


Clipped and Unbound

by garrisonbabe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Come Marking, Dean and Sam are really rich, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Grooming, Humans Suck, M/M, Multi, PTSD Castiel, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Self-Harm, Sensory Overload, Sex in later chapters, Slave Castiel, Slave Trade, Slavery, Synaesthesia, Wings, like not really until the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1567589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garrisonbabe/pseuds/garrisonbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a slave widely regarded as unbreakable and unruly. Dean Winchester is a billionaire ending a five year long search to rescue him. They'll both learn that peace can be the hardest thing in the world to find.</p><p>
  <a href="http://garrisonbabe.tumblr.com/post/92473554116">fanmix</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Auction

His cell was dark, the musty smell of dirt overloading his senses as he woke. There was a sharp pain in his side and blood pouring from the gaping wound between his ribs. It sat thick in his palm as he lay on it. The smell was cloying and ill, his stomach turning as though he’d vomit. Maybe if they fed him something substantial he actually would. Cramps were beginning to seize up and down his back, spreading excruciatingly sharp into his wings. They'd chained them again, hundreds of pounds of steel clanking noisily when he tried to sit up. It took every shred of willpower available not to scream. Not for them—they didn't deserve it. Besides, if he screamed, they'd just collar him again with the shocker, and the last time he wore it he got burned severely.

All he could think was that maybe one day someone would shoot him in the right place, and he'd finally be free.

─────────────────

Dean sat in the passenger seat of a company semi truck, his fingers tapping absently at pages he was no longer reading. He and Balthazar had been stuck in the cab for three days, driving down highway after highway in an effort to make the auction on time. Fields and trees turned into suburbs, which then melted almost seamlessly into one of the better looking cities. Some of the buildings were still pretty badly damaged, but the men running around in paramilitary uniforms didn't look too trigger-happy, so Dean counted it as a partial win.

The closer they got to the center of the city, the more his thoughts were consumed with the object of his five year search. Most times, he'd reached the owners just after they'd resold or returned the slave. Other times they were convinced they could break him, and their pride got in the way of the inordinate sums of money Dean was blatantly throwing in their faces. Idiots. Each and every one.

The Winchester family was known widely in the Allied Provinces of North America. They were practically royalty in the APNA, and any time one of them went to an auction, it was big news. The one Dean was headed to currently was relatively small, and most of the people up for bid had very low asking prices. Dean’s query in particular had one of the lowest. He didn’t know the name of the angel he was set to buy, only what little he could dig up since hearing about him five years ago. Unsurprisingly there were only official reports about behavior, and nothing of the man behind the serial number.

While it wasn't uncommon to find people who had soft spots for angels, they didn't all usually spend their personal time looking for bad cases and getting them off the market. Most people wrote their province rep and bribed some legislation through the council. Sam was incredibly fond of doing just that, though he also had that trusty law degree that gave him a bit more credibility when he started waving the checkbook that direction.

No one outside their family, adopted or blood, knew why the boys had such a fondness for the beings. It had started with their dad shortly after their mother died, and when he passed away almost eight years ago, it was only heightened. They were lucky that Bobby and Ellen ran their company until they were old enough to take over, that way they didn't blow their entire account on sob stories. They didn’t buy often, and when they did it was usually someone specific, someone they'd spent time searching for. Months later they’d be talked about at parties, usually a discussion on how their slaves were all well-behaved and loyal. Various theories floated around, some citing intensive training methods or even mind-altering substances to keep their purchases so docile and faithful. Neither Dean nor Sam answered anything straight, usually just saying it was something to do with the food. The simple truth of the matter was that the angels under their care behaved civilly because they were treated like people instead of objects, as most everyone else thought them to be.

Balthazar clicked the turn signal on and took their exit, signaling to Dean that they were quickly approaching the auction house. The nervous tension in his mind and stomach hadn't eased at all; it had gotten worse, hitting him harder and harder the closer he got. Maybe this time he'd actually find the angel before some dick came by and picked him straight out of the back room. He’d been through the guy’s papers about a dozen times over, adding new accounts with every near-miss. Whoever he was, he'd been owned by some of the worst humanity had to offer. Some of the reports listed made the story that had initially piqued Dean's interest seem like a severe tickling.

Said initial story was how the angel he was seeking had been shot in the abdomen while trying to keep himself from being raped by his former master. Of course, no one else really looked at it as rape—they all saw him as property. But it _was_ rape; in Dean’s mind, you didn’t own people. It was a lesson his father had taught almost militantly before he’d died, and it was something Dean was sure to keep teaching his younger brother. That was why he’d spent five years obsessively searching the APNA top to bottom, holding out every hope that one day the search would pay off.

The angel was pure-blooded, four wings with black feathers hanging on his back. Even as abused and disheveled as they were, they seemed to steal the light from the flash of the cameras that had catalogued him. His hair was the same shade as his wings and seemed to grow in tufts that stuck up every which way. Though that could have also been due to rough handling. Dean liked to think it was something more innocent, but he also wasn't naïve. His eyes were a dark shade of blue, almost black-looking in some of the more underexposed black and white photos.

He stared at the images of the battered man, some of them obviously taken by professionals, others taken in more private settings. It was the blood that got to him most, a cut on the bridge of his nose in one picture making Dean feel like he'd be sick. How anyone could treat another living creature like that Dean would never know. The prints betrayed little about any scars on his skin, but they were also pretty low-res and probably doctored, so he didn’t trust them. Angels didn’t injure as easily as humans, but getting shot wasn’t going to leave anyone’s skin unmarked.

Angels were two or three times stronger than most humans, weighed less because of something to do with their bones. Dean never really could be bothered to pay attention to the medical jargon. Sam lapped it up, but that kid was a grade A nerd and a bit of a freak, so that didn't surprise his big brother any. What he took away from the talks was that even Gabriel, who was a scrawny little shit half a foot shorter than Dean, could probably kick Sam's ass from one Tuesday into the next without breaking much of a sweat.

Maybe that was what disturbed Dean the most when he thought about his soon-to-be charge. The guy had, more than once, been nearly killed by angered owners. He had a reputation for being more trouble than he was worth, and his record was filled with people who bought him and then gave him away, sold him, or paid the government to take him back. He’d been stabbed, whipped, shot, and beaten because he wouldn’t break, and Dean wanted nothing more than to get him the fuck out of the system and give him a stable home. He himself may have been a little crazy, and certainly most of the people he knew in high society told him as much, but it didn’t matter. A living, breathing person was being fucking tortured, and he was putting a stop to it, no matter how much it cost.

They pulled up to the side-entrance of the complex with all the other large vehicles, and Dean closed the manila folder, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

A steady hand landed on his arm and he looked over to see light blue eyes and a reassuring smile. “It will be alright, Dean, you’ll get him.”

Balthazar had been another special case. He’d been raised in the slave trade since he’d been small, and when Dean bought him the first thing Bal had tried to do was have sex with him, the behavior so ingrained in him that he didn't even think anything was wrong. The better part of the first year was spent with Sam teaching him how to be a person. That he wasn't a slave, that he had his own thoughts and ideas. Dean could still remember the first time the snarky little shit had actually displayed that propensity. He'd flinched on impulse as soon as the scathing remark on Sam's height left his mouth. The fact that he thought he was going to be hit for acting like part of the family forced Dean to take a long walk so Bal wouldn't think he was angry with him. Balthazar’s own line had human blood so he had two wings instead of four or six, but they were large enough that he’d still fetched a good price. Almost four hundred grand if Dean remembered correctly, though he barely paid attention to what private purchases cost for anything more than tax purposes.

Dean’s eyes flicked to the silver bracelet with a microchip and engraved name plate that read _Winchester_ in fancy script before meeting the familiar eyes of one of his best friends.

“Yeah, I know, just hoping he's actually still here.” Dean sighed, smiling gratefully when the hand on his arm tightened and powdery bronze wings twitched sympathetically. “This is gonna suck if he refuses to trust me at least a little bit. Long-ass drive back home, man.”

Balthazar nodded, and his smile turned sad. “I know, Dean. That’s all the more reason to go in there and get him. We’ll get him home and rehabilitated. In my highly informed opinion, you’re the best person for the job. You and Sam taught me about freedom well enough, didn’t you?”

Dean smiled wider and nodded before unbuckling himself and tucking the closed folder into the glove box. He knew Balthazar could see how nervous he was; he could probably feel it, too. Angel brains were wired differently from those of humans, their senses heightened in a way that gave them a sort of sixth sense. Some freaky combination of sight, smell, and hearing made them eerily empathetic, which had some people accusing them of being telepathic or reading minds. They could smell pheromones, see minute body language ticks, and hear even the smallest changes in someone’s voice. Once their brains processed it, the information was turned into emotions that the angels themselves could feel and judge. All of this happening just as quickly as someone could speak to them.

Basically, it was damn near impossible to lie to an angel. Humans in law enforcement were actually genetically tested for angelic DNA. Angelic lineage usually gave way to some of these abilities, which had obvious uses in an interrogation room and on a crime scene.

Dean took a deep breath, swallowed, and ground his jaw before opening his door. Balthazar was going to wait in the truck, which had air conditioning and food, while Dean trudged in sweltering hundred and ten-degree heat to the first checkpoint. Damned southern summers were going to kill him if he was forced to keep searching. His face was recognizable enough that they didn’t even ask for his ID. He was in the building and past the first three checkpoints in under ten minutes, and from there he was promptly sent to the registration and purchases desk.

A stout man, likely in his mid-forties with a bald head and too-nice clothing stepped toward him with an insincere sales smile. Dean really didn’t want to deal with Zachariah today, but he didn’t exactly have a choice.

“Mr. Winchester, how very nice of you to come! Please, have a seat! Would you care for refreshments?” His voice had a friendly tone, soft and inviting, and if Dean hadn’t already known everything about this man, he’d be convinced. But he knew about Zachariah Adler and the way he treated his prisoners—because living beings weren’t for sale, they were imprisoned—and he didn’t care to be in the man’s company.

“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Adler. I’m actually here to ask about making a private purchase.” The man in front of him smiled widely. Private purchases were usually negotiated for far more than the asking price because of the inconvenience of taking away competing bids.

“Yes, of course, who were you looking for?” Grubby, pudgy hands clasped expectantly on a desk that was probably an antique from before the last war.

“Case number S4 dash ANG dash 0583DMK.” Dean knew this number like his own social or Sammy's birthday; every day he said it to himself and made a promise to replace it with a name. “I’d like to see him and buy him before he has a chance to go on the block, if that’s possible.”

The excitement in the slaver’s face turned into anxiety and even a bit of terror at the mention of the unruly angel. Even with all the case numbers Zachariah saw and all the angels he cycled through the gears of the slave trade, that number seemed to stick with him like it stuck with Dean.

“Mr. Winchester, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. He’s a danger to everyone he’s near, including himself, and is only legally cleared for auction sale and private transport. If I could let you take him now, trust me, I would, but I’m just not able. I could lose my job and get this entire facility into hot water if I did. I’m sure you understand.” Dean wasn’t surprised to hear any of it.

He nodded tightly and cleared his throat. “Figured I’d ask, just in case.”

Adler nodded, trying not to show how tense he was at Dean’s prospective purchase. The asking price for the angel was only fifty thousand dollars, but it would be pushed higher, probably no more than one hundred thousand, and he’d probably be picked up by some self-labelled torture master if Dean didn’t intervene. The auction block was of no consequence; Dean wasn’t taking no for an answer. If someone really wanted to push it, his family was one of the wealthiest in the Allied Provinces and their corporation spanned the entire continent.

He squared his shoulders as he sat and gave the sort of smile that he used on rival CEOs during a merger. “In that case, can you get him slotted within the first ten? I know the auction isn't for another two hours, and I was hoping to be out of here kinda quickly.”

It was an unspoken rule of the provinces that you tried to accommodate the big name families. The Winchesters were the engineering and manufacturing backbone, and without them the entire continent would fall into disarray. Their companies were involved in the making of everything from weapons to toasters. You really couldn’t go much of anywhere in the APNA or allied countries without finding the name Winchester on something. It was like before the final world war broke out, and everywhere people looked they saw a sticker that said _Made in China_.

With a rough swallow, Zachariah picked up a small handheld device, touching the screen to reorder the line-up of the block. He was sweating, and Dean couldn’t help the twinge of amusement he felt at making Adler just as uncomfortable as he felt in the man’s presence.

“Done and done, he’ll be the seventh one brought out. Is that all, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean nodded and stood, shaking Adler’s hand and made a mental note to ask Balthazar for some disinfectant once he checked in with him, then headed back through the three checkpoints to the semi and trailer. He hopped in, and even without a recap, Balthazar knew what happened.

“Park us in the outgoing traffic lanes by the block. Had to fucking deal with Adler, and I feel like I need my soul scrubbed.” Dean made a show of shuddering, to which his friend chuckled. “He said that the guy is ‘a risk to everyone he is near, including himself,’ and gee I fucking wonder why, when you probably stun him every five minutes just for breathing the wrong fucking way.”

Dean rubbed across the arch of his brow and growled in frustration as Balthazar silently drove them to their new location. “Be back in a few hours, Bal. I take it you’d rather wait here?”

He didn’t blame Balthazar at all for not wanting to go near the blocks. He had PTSD from his time in the trade, and even seven years later he’d have nightmares that left him nearly unable to breathe because of it. God forbid he saw a former owner while Dean was out making a rescue purchase.

“Yes, I think I’ll call Sam or Jo and make plans to annoy Ellen once we’re back home.” He smiled conspiratorially and shooed his friend out of the cab.

Dean laughed and shook his head as he got out, earning odd looks from the people who kept their angels leashed and bound. Some of the sick fucks even cut the primary feathers to keep their angels grounded.

The Winchester estate had a five acre aviary that was caged at the perimeter. The more skittish angels were taken there to fly with another angel until it wasn’t a worry that they’d fly away and put themselves in danger. Angels who flew away to escape their masters were taken to a government facility, where their wings were broken at the joints to keep them permanently grounded.

While it wasn’t the same as flying untethered, the aviary on estate grounds had a small forest planted, complete with a small pond, and wild animals were frequent visitors. Everyone called it the Garden and seeing rabbits or foxes on a hike through it wasn’t uncommon at all. All in all, it was one of Dean’s favorite areas to sit and relax.

He walked confidently toward the outdoor block where rows of chairs were set up in front of tables lined with luxurious food and drink. The entire scene was completed by a low-set stage with a podium off to one side that had a small microphone connected to speakers beneath the wood-paneled floor. He eyed the food half-heartedly, waiting for someone to come around and give him a bidding flag. Maybe he’d pick some entrées out and take them to Balthazar for the road. He himself planned to spend the nearly three-day drive back to the estates making sure his newest arrival was comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he felt safe being.

A lanky, unremarkable young man came around and gave him a silver bidding flag made of hard plastic that was shaped like a diamond and outlined with a blue edge. It showed he was a priority customer. He tried to spot another one, if there was one, and swore aloud when he did see one other silver flag in the crowd. It belonged to Alastair Masters.

Out of everyone Dean had met, Alastair was one of the ones he made a conscious effort to loathe. His daughter, Meg, was a business rep that he had to deal with frequently; she was a cut-throat negotiator and a massive, seething bitch, but she was preferable to her father. Dean even had some professional respect for her despite his personal distaste. Her father was heartless, and known for having a chamber below his bedroom with what he called a rack and an assortment of knives and other instruments.

Usually Dean stopped listening whenever Alastair’s lisping voice sliced at his ears. He sighed, began picking out food he knew Bal would enjoy, and waited silently for the auction to begin.

• •

The first six purchases came and went from the block with no fuss. It was a low-stakes auction, and as of yet none of them had broken two hundred grand. He was thankful there were no children up—he’d have bought them just on the principle of the matter. Then the seventh item on the docket came out. Five men in body armor with long, metallic stun rods at their hips held his squirming form off the ground by the chains binding his wings. He was very obviously in pain, and Dean ground his teeth to avoid doing or saying something stupid.

His wings were even more beautiful than in the photos, but it was heart-breaking to see them in their abused and restrained state. They weren’t flat black; the evening sun that was setting behind them showed they were blue-black with silver ticking that damn near gleamed even when the feathers were unkempt, crumpled, and dried out from lack of proper care. Dean cringed when he could start counting ribs and scars, and could see the obvious dirt build up. He’d probably been kept in an underground cell, maybe only fed once daily, and he seemed like the kind of person who’d starve himself on principle. Upon actually seeing him in person, Dean was glad for the stocked pantry and the bins of grooming supplies in the trailer.

Adler was the auctioneer, and his demeanor shifted into unease when Dean’s intended purchase was wrestled out. “Seventh item on the docket: S4 dash ANG dash 0583DMK is up for purchase with an asking price starting at fifty-thousand dollars.”

Immediately Dean’s stomach turned when Alastair raised his flag and spoke. “Seventy-five thousand.”

Dean raised his in return. He and Alastair may have both been premium customers, but on a conservative guess Dean could confidently say he had his bank roll beat ten to one. Alastair’s business was mostly in antiquities, rare finds, and other things related to archeology. His frequent contributions to non-flesh auctions gave him his fortune, but it didn’t grow quite like Dean’s did. Especially when Dean’s family also had stakes in a fair share of the precious metals market in the APNA on top of their normal business transactions.

When he spoke everyone turned to openly stare. They obviously expected Alastair to bid, but not Dean. “One hundred fifty thousand.”

Alastair turned, a sneer on his face. It was clear he hoped Dean wasn’t going to press because he didn’t have the money to argue with a Winchester. Few people did. The angel on the stage stopped struggling when Dean’s voice rang out. Dean could see the curiosity on his face as well as the caution. Where before he'd been fighting, now he stared like Dean was some puzzle to figure out. Just like Dean, Alastair had a reputation, and it was clear which one he favored experiencing first-hand.

Alastair hummed and retaliated. “Two hundred.”

Dean smirked. It wouldn't matter what number was called out; he wasn't going to back off. “Three seventy five.”

Resentment showed on the older man’s face as he countered again. “Five hundred.”

Dean resisted the urge to laugh as Alastair approached the top end of his limit at these events. Dean had his own limit set around two million, but there was nothing he wasn't willing to spend to get the man he'd spent half a decade fixated on.

“Seven hundred and seventy five thousand dollars.” Every syllable fell from his lips perfectly enunciated, the sound flowing out to land like a blow against his bidding opponent.

Everyone gasped, gaping at him like a school of pampered fish. Even Adler was in shock, and Alastair turned away from Dean, his shoulders squared. He’d lost and he knew it. The black hair and wings remained still, blue eyes searching over his form as he tried to ask from across the yard why in the Hell he was paying so much for him. Luckily, there were at least three days ahead of them with no interruptions for Dean to attempt to explain himself. Suddenly he kind of regretted not letting Sammy tag along.

Finally the world caught up with him, and Zachariah cleared his throat, the audience half turning to him and half watching Dean watch the angel. “Seven hundred and seventy five thousand dollars for the purchase of S4 dash ANG dash 0583DMK going once… twice… and sold to Dean Winchester of the Winchester and Singer Corporation.”

The gavel pounded against the wood of the podium, seeming more like thunder than the signal of a closed transaction.

Dean called to the stage, setting his flag down on the table as he spoke over the rumor mill in front of him. “Have him brought to my truck immediately; I’ll sign all the forms there.”

Alastair was cursing, and the usually reserved whispers of high society weren't even attempting to hide themselves. Some were openly pointing, questioning expressions on their dolled-up faces. Dean didn't have to explain himself to them, though. He had already made his order on the food, and now all that he had to stick around for was the angel who was allowing himself to be dragged off-stage like an animal. Dean needed to play this very carefully to avoid injuring himself physically and to avoid tarnishing his first impression to this damaged man.


	2. Starting for Home

When Dean made it back around, he smiled to Balthazar as the angel gorged himself on fancy food from the buffet. Two men were all that was restraining the new angel beside the truck, while a third stood in front with the necessary forms on a touch-pad and a stun bar at the ready. Dean hadn’t noticed before, but there was a shocking collar around the angel’s throat to keep him from speaking. As he approached, he saw more details of the battered body in too many lengths of chain. Most of it was dedicated to his wings, and Dean couldn't help the disgust from boiling over in his expression. The angel's wings were bound even more tightly than he’d thought, and his arms were bound with multiple spreaders, while his legs were shackled closely together. All of it was designed to make it impossible for him to try and get away. Dean wasn’t even sure how he’d fought so hard against the restraints before.

The guard in front held the pad out to Dean, who laid his hand over the signature space and waited for it to be authorized. Once the pad beeped in the affirmative he held out his hand. “Give me the keys to his restraints; I’ll get him secure for transport myself.”

The guys eyed him warily and the angel tilted his head, his expression curious. Dean’s rage, frustration, and impatience had to have been felt by the bound slave. Whether the angel understood that it was directed at everyone except him was another matter entirely. When the man handed over the keys, he took the stun rod from his hip in the same breath.

Dean glared and glanced between the weapon and guard’s face. “If you try to use that stun rod on him, I swear to God I will bend you over and shove it up your ass.”

His voice was a growl as he dismissed the guards. They went back toward the outpost, muttering quietly about Dean’s suicidal tendencies being his own business. Dean approached slowly, his hands open with the key ring around one thumb. He’d studied angelic behavior and human behavior alike, both useful in business and in their mixed household. His first step was to keep his breathing slow and even. He was cautious, now, not wanting to startle the other man.

Bal had gone through less than half the beatings and violent physical abuse this new angel had, and when Dean had found him he'd been a mess. No will of his own, always pawing at Dean and asking how to please him.

This angel... there was almost no limit to the sort of torture and punishment he'd been subjected to. He had to be ready to strike out and attack at the first sign of aggression on Dean’s part. “My name is Dean. I’m going to unlock your legs so you can get in the trailer and then I’m going to unlock you the rest of the way, and we’ll get going. I’m not armed and I will not hit you. All I want is to unshackle your legs, alright?”

The angel’s eyes were wide, his breath quick with panic. He knew it would have been pointless to try and run once Dean unlocked his legs. The rest of him would still be chained, and the armed guards that had just walked off would shoot him before he got ten feet in any direction. He nodded, keeping his gaze locked on Dean’s. Already he was testing the human in front of him. Staring was a form of challenge, and slave owners typically beat their servants if they made the slightest eye contact. Dean kept eye contact, not moving, and dropped his hands to his sides very slowly.

It wasn’t until the rapid breaths calmed and he got another nod of assent, the angel’s eyes flitting down to his own legs, that Dean knelt painfully slowly and made very gentle, obvious movements as he unlocked the first set of shackles. When they fell, he could see the muscles twitching, could feel those blue eyes still watching him. He stood once more and moved for the overly wide door at the side of the trailer. The  moment it was open a blur of black wings and chains ran by his head as his charge launched himself into the new space, most likely checking the surroundings before Dean could enter. If he was going to be on foreign territory, he wanted to at least get a lay of the land first. It was smart, if a little paranoid, though that was definitely justified.

Dean waited a handful of minutes before that curious head peeked out to him from the doorway, eyes squinting in question. Dean nodded, the angel backed away, and he slowly ascended the step ladder, closing the door and locking it behind his back. He hit two switches next to the door, the soundproofing to and from the outside of the trailer engaging. Any small echoes that had lingered behind the door stopped completely, and he could hear more panicked breathing, a wary expression meeting him when he turned back.

The man backed himself into the center of the space. When Dean was designing the layout of the trailer to make it livable for the ride he'd made sure there were no obvious corners, a couch and stacks of trunks placed in strategic locations to keep that from happening. The end of the trailer nearest to the truck had a long couch that wrapped around the sides and had a fold-out mattress in the center portion.

The rest of the space against the walls was fitted with containers against the back edge and a small kitchenette on the other. The back of their makeshift motel room had a urinal and a toilet with nothing more than a shower curtain to conceal it. While it meant there wasn’t much in the way of privacy, there also weren’t any confined spaces or hiding places. The trailer was lit with light bulbs made to emulate sunlight, so Dean hoped it wouldn’t cause a migraine because he knew that he’d never convince the angel to take any pills offered, even if they were properly sealed and labeled.

“The truck is about to start moving, so if you feel us lurch a bit, that’s what that is. We have what’ll probably be about a thirty hour drive ahead. The couch is free for you to use; you can walk around and examine anything you need to see. Let me know when you’re ready, and I'll unlock you the rest of the way. This moves at your word and no one else’s, I swear to you.” Dean made a show of placing the keys on a hook next to the sound-proofing switches.

The truck began moving, and Dean stood quietly, letting himself be examined and walked around until the man held his arms out and flapped his wings as best he could, in obvious pain but not stopping. Dean nodded and took the keys off the wall with more overly slow movements. He was still eyed like he was hiding something, and then it occurred to him he was wearing a lot of clothes. His guest was only wearing ratty shorts that were standard issue for government prisoners.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I wasn’t wearing as much? Just so you know I’m not hiding weapons or anything?”

The man looked surprised, but nodded quickly. Dean set the keys in his guest’s bound hands slowly, keeping eye contact until he needed to move to strip his shirt off. He’d only been wearing a t-shirt and slacks with comfortable dress shoes, but he knew it was more than enough to hide shivs and other small weapons, let alone any sort of syringes. He removed his shirt slowly, pulling it over his head and shaking it out lightly before folding it and placing it on a plastic trunk to his right. Dean untied his shoes, tapping them by the heel on the floor and shaking them out before placing them on his shirt one at a time. He didn’t wear a belt for what he felt were obvious reasons and simply unbuttoned his pants, letting them fall down his hips in a heap. He was left clad in only his boxers and ankle socks, turning his pants entirely inside out before he folded them and set them on top of his other clothing with the pockets turned inside-out.

“Alright, whenever you’re ready you can hand the keys back to me. Do you want me to unlock your arms or wings first?” Apparently he hadn’t been expecting to have a choice in the matter because he was clearly startled—his eyes wide and mouth gaping. After a moment’s hesitation his wings started shaking furiously within their confines, and Dean was almost pushed over as bound hands clumsily forced the keys back to him. Dean smiled softly and nodded. “I’m going to hum so you’ll know exactly where I am behind you, okay?”

The dirty face looking back at him was becoming more confused by the second with every passing consideration given to him. “You do want your wings unbound first, right? Just so I know we’re on the same page until I can get that stupid fucking collar off of you.”

A soft nod and a look of something akin maybe to amusement or relief when Dean expressed his distaste for the collar made his own face soften even more. He began humming Metallica and moved with purposefully noisy and slow steps to make sure his movements could be easily tracked.

There was one heavy lock at the center of the angel’s back that held a dozen or more thick chains all fastened to its center. He picked the appropriate key from the ring and made sure not to accidentally touch the man’s back as he lifted the lock. His humming grew louder as the key slid in and turned it, the lock opening swiftly.

The ends of the chains snapped out and Dean backed away slowly, despite the panic that seized his system when the freed wings shot out and stretched. The muscles beneath the angel’s grimy skin were cramping instantly, and as the man doubled over in pain and sobbed quietly Dean forced himself to stay still, humming the entire time. He knew he couldn’t comfort the sobbing form in front of him—he was still distrusted and even feared. This was going to be a very slow process, and he needed to think clearly and carefully about every move he took.

A good portion of the trailer was covered in shadows as four long, broad wings twitched and shook with excitement. The muscles were no longer cramped, but they were definitely still sore. Once extended Dean could truly appreciate the beauty of those feathers. Even tattered they shined. The silver ticking wasn’t evenly dispersed, and it almost made it look like the wings were freckled.

The man stilled and stood, turning to face Dean. His cheeks were streaked in tears, and his nose ran. He looked like he was fighting the urge to smile, but Dean could see still see the effect of the exhilaration was having. Those brilliant blue eyes became even more striking, even glassy with tears as they were. It was, to Dean's knowledge, the first time his wings had been entirely free since he’d first entered the system more than fifteen years ago.

The face in front of him changed as it calmed, more curious than outright distrusting. Again, Dean felt like he was being examined, every detail of him considered and weighed. Just like at the auction block. Dean knew that the angel could tell he was happy with every chain that was removed, and he was probably trying to figure out why. Free-looking angels were rarely a cause for celebration to humans.

“Do you want me to release your arms or remove the collar?” Dean still spoke softly and slowly, never losing sight of the fact that the temporary happiness wasn't going to undo the undercurrent of resentment and distrust.

The angel held his arms forward and Dean carefully unlocked each spreader, releasing him in tiers until he was only holding up his left arm for the last cuff. That long pale column of neck was exposed as he tipped his head back and stretched.

“Should I remove the collar now?” The still tipped head nodded. Dean found the electronic key that would open the thick ring and touched it to the front.

The moment it clanked on the floor, Dean was shoved against the wall behind him. There was no anger in the dark blue eyes staring at him, but the grip on his shoulders was tight enough that he knew he'd bruise. This was a test to see how Dean would react. Dean kept himself relaxed, forcing himself to breathe deeply and keep his arms still at his sides.

“What do you want?” The voice that greeted him was rough and scratched from what Dean knew was a combination of disuse and damage to his throat.

“Can I start by getting your name?” Dean was actually surprisingly calm. If the angel wanted to really hurt him, he’d have done so by now—could have before Dean had even unlocked him.

His wings twitched and his eyes narrowed, head tilting and examining Dean. He leaned in a bit and sniffed at Dean, scent could be invaluable for telling how genuine someone was.

“Is ‘angel’ or ‘slave’ not good enough?” There was malice in his tone that wasn’t mirrored in his eyes. Dean hoped it wasn’t actively directed at him, more like it was just bad memories. He wasn’t sure the guy had any good ones.

“Those aren’t names,” Dean said flatly. The grip on his arms was easing, but the body in front of his was leaning in closer, moving to press against him so hard it hurt to breathe. Dean still didn’t struggle, only held the blue eyes so near to his that they blurred with the proximity.

The angel backed off with a huff, Dean barely catching himself with any sort of coordination.

“My name is…” He paused, seemingly unsure whether to give Dean his real name. “Castiel.” He finished after a few seconds, his wings swaying softly in the air.

There was an inch-long strip of skin across the front of his neck that was burnt and scarred severely, almost as if someone purposefully tightened the collar to do more than discourage speech. Dean moved his eyes away after a moment, back up to the angel’s face.

“Okay, Castiel. You can call me Dean, if you like. Pretty sure you know who I am already, though.” Castiel nodded. Dean gestured toward the cupboards on the opposite wall. “If you let me walk by you, I have food for you and a fully stocked grooming kit for your wings.”

Castiel backed away slowly, allowing Dean ample space to pass by and open the cabinets with fruit and other various snack foods in them. He didn't stand too close, and his wings were curled in as close to his body as possible. Dean kept himself open and his movements more on the sluggish side as he opened all of the drawers and doors, allowing Castiel to pick what he wanted while he opened the portable cabinets on the other side.

He was in the process of unpacking soap when Castiel spoke again. “You paid a lot of money for me.”

Dean slowly turned to look at him and smiled in what he hoped was a friendly way. “I wasn’t going to let Alastair Masters take you home. He’s a cruel, dickless asshole, and from looking at your file I’d say you’ve had enough of those.”

Castiel’s head tilted, something Dean was quickly becoming accustomed to. “You’ve looked through my entire file?”

Dean nodded. “I heard about you being shot trying not to get raped when I was at a party five years ago, and since then I’ve been researching and tracking you down. I tried to get to you privately so you wouldn’t have to be dragged out like you were, but Adler wouldn’t allow it. Said you were a risk.” Dean’s voice had risen unintentionally, but the irritated tone didn’t seem to bother Castiel. He took a breath to calm himself and continued. “Besides, I know his limit is right at six fifty or so and mine’s around two mil. Honestly, for you I was willing to drain my entire damned account.”

“Your reputation seems accurate thus far. Will you be attempting to train me?” There was an air of revulsion as Castiel mentioned training and his demeanor changed, his wings pulled in even closer and his arms hugging his scarred midsection. He was guarding himself.

Dean took a slow, measured breath and stepped away from the storage containers. He’d practiced this speech to Balthazar about twenty times on the way over, his friend correcting and suggesting phrasing to help put Castiel at ease and make him believe Dean.

“You aren’t going to be trained, Castiel. You’re not an animal, you’re a person.” The other man watched him as he spoke, eyes shifting across his face to check every part of his expression. There were subtle twitches in the muscles around his ears as he listened, trying to find a lie in any of the words spoken. “That paperwork I signed says I own you, but that's not how I see it. Those papers just mean protection from slavers and assholes, nothing more. All I want is to be able to give you a home and a fucking break, man. I thought you being shot had been the worst of it, but after looking at your file, I wish it was.”

Castiel's expression was closed off, but his eyes said more than he probably realized. They were turning glassy again, tears pricking at the corners. Somewhere in him, there was hope and he was trying to stomp it down. He could tell Dean was telling the truth, that all he wanted was for Castiel to be safe, but he wasn't letting himself believe it. Someone had probably said those words more than once, just to go back on them.

Castiel looked everywhere but Dean, jaw clenching before he spoke again. “Why do you care?”

That question was one Dean had tried to answer for years when others asked. No one but the family seemed to understand why he went to such lengths. Before, he'd brushed them off, said it wasn't their concern, but he couldn't do that now. Castiel asked, and he _had_ to answer.

His mind blanked for a moment before he thought of something his dad had told him when he was younger. “Let's just say it's part of the family business.”

Blue eyes squinted, not quite understanding, but seeming to accept it for the time being. Dean let the tense mood pass from around them. They held eye contact for a handful of seconds before Dean licked his lips and turned toward the bins he’d been unpacking.

“Behind me, like I said, is a full grooming kit for your wings. There are balms for the bald patches and there's a pretty decent selection of organic oils that should help your feathers without irritating them or sending you into a moult.” Dean stepped back and let Castiel step closer to examine the contents of the kits. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t pick any of this out. Our driver, Balthazar, did.”

Castiel’s head snapped to Dean, clearly in shock that an angel would be allowed to drive at all, let alone to drive unattended, and trusted to get them safely home without any kind of supervision. “Balthazar is an angelic name.”

Dean nodded with a slight smirk on his lips. For his life he couldn’t understand why angels were treated like second-class citizens. Both humans and angels were sold in the slave trade, but humans were favored when it came to gentle treatment. It was shameful.

“I found him around seven or eight years ago. He was private purchase. He’d been a tossed around four different countries, and it took a long time for him to believe me when I said no one was going to come into his room at night. He still has nightmares that’ll rattle him pretty badly, but he’s a lot better than when he first showed up. He’s actually one of my best friends. A royal pain in my ass, but any good friend is.” Castiel was gaping as Dean spoke. Humans hardly ever talked about angels with any sort of respect and here Dean was calling one, a former sex slave, his best friend.

Castiel's stomach growled and he looked back at the food that was out in the open and ready for him. Dean smiled and moved back toward the grooming products. “Help yourself.”

Castiel turned around and began to grab fruit of all kinds, sniffing them and giving test bites. While Dean liked to imagine it was out of genuine curiosity, it was likely more to try and find any substance that shouldn’t have been there. Drugging food wasn’t exactly a new concept. All the food was clean, though. Organic, even, at Sam’s insistence. Dean watched with slight amusement and some fondness at the faces made over the various citrus fruits. After researching for five years, he felt like he knew Castiel at least a little bit. Not well enough to say he knew him like a friend would, but he knew everything that he’d been through, and he wanted to help. To the point of obsession, some had pointed out.

The angel was idly munching on bread and spiced jerky when he looked at a towel sitting next to the sink. Dean noticed his staring and tapped the floor with his toes, trying to warn that Castiel that he was moving before taking heavy steps toward him. Even if Castiel wasn’t actively on guard and wholly distrusting of Dean, which was still a miracle and a half, he knew that Castiel was damaged, and he needed to treat him delicately for the time being. He turned on the tap, making it tepid before stopping the drain, dropping the rag in, and adding a feather-friendly soap. Dean let the water rise a bit, then filled the second side of the sink before letting Castiel take over.

Dean watched and stood a respectful distance away so as to let him stretch his wings a little without hitting human at every turn. The rag came away from his body dirty with mud and other things Dean didn’t want to contemplate. He rinsed his body and sighed as the dirt was lifted, water gently coursing over his frame.

“I take it you haven’t been able to bathe in a while?” Dean was trying not to push or pry, but he was too curious about the side he didn't see during his search. He knew better than to think that Castiel would spill his entire story right off the bat, or even within the coming weeks, but he hoped he could at least get some glimpses.

“No. The last time I was cleaned it was with a high pressure hose that I endured for risk of electrocution if I struggled.” He cleaned his legs, and Dean suddenly realized it would be wise to replace the threadbare shorts.

He moved across the room to a plastic crate and pulled out the first pairs of pants his hands touched. There were three: one pair was black, another dark blue, and the last beige. He put them on the counter next to the sink, still carefully avoiding touching Castiel.

“Pick whichever one you like best. We have more here, too. Different colors if you don’t like those.” Dean realized his nerves were finally starting to show, so he forced himself to breathe and meet the curious eyes watching him fidget. “There are a couple of tank tops in here for you after you finish washing.”

Castiel looked at the pants with an unreadable expression and nodded to acknowledge the bit about the tops before stripping his own stained shorts off and handing them to Dean to throw away. He washed his groin, and Dean turned around to offer privacy. After a few minutes Dean heard the sinks as they drained behind his back, followed by the rustling of fabric. He turned around in time to see Castiel pulling the drawstrings on the black pants tight. The jut of bones from his hips cut out above them, flaring almost like his wings.

Something inside Dean broke and he grit his teeth to keep himself from having an outburst. He was realizing suddenly just how starved Castiel was, his ribs sticking out from his skin were easier to see when he was clean. There was lean muscle all over his body, like on most angels, but there was no fat. Nothing to sustain him if his food supply was cut off. Dean didn't even want to consider whether the people imprisoning him had made the choice on purpose or if it just happened some other way.

“Can I see the tops?” Castiel broke him out of his reverie, arms curling in on himself, his expression a little less guarded and a little more self-conscious.

Dean nodded and gathered one to match each pair of pants. Castiel chose the blue one. It was a simple halter-like shirt with a wide collar. The material slid up his legs easily and clung more than the pants, designed to be more form fitting. On the angel's frame, though, it still looked too big. The collar easily slipped over Castiel's head and sat comfortably on his skin. There were other designs that buttoned or zipped, but Dean figured solid fabric was a safer bet.

“D'you mind if I go sit down? The wing stuff is right there if you want to groom.” Castiel stepped to the side and let Dean pass, going back to the rest of the open bins.

Castiel took out bottle after bottle, opening the caps and sniffing them, occasionally taking a small taste of some of the oils. It was a struggle for Dean not to laugh at the faces he made. After twenty minutes of searching, he found one of the balms and took small amounts of the scentless dressing on the tips of his fingers. He hissed and winced, starting with the rougher patches on his lower wings. Feathers were missing in large portions all over, tender flesh beneath it chapped to the point of cracking and scabbing. Feathers were falling out the more he moved, some of them coming out completely, others simply snapping off somewhere in the middle when Castiel touched them. Dean wondered what they'd look like healthy, what the man as a whole would look like healthy.

The application of the balm alone took two hours and almost two entire jars. Dean spent some of the time watching the angel and some of it reading. Did Castiel read? It was worth it to find out. The house had a large library, thanks mostly to Dean’s baby brother, and it would be kinda cool to watch Castiel wander through the upper level and jump down with a book in his hands. Maybe he didn't know, or forgot how. If he came to trust Dean enough, they could sit down and have lessons. They could start with his own name, if he wanted.

Dean reread the same page five times as his thoughts consumed him. His daydreaming ended when Castiel sat down at the far end of the couch. Black feathers were scattered across the floor in a path to the garbage can, many of them half-broken and horribly frail looking. The ones still attached were looking better, though. Patches of irritation still made Dean wince in sympathy, but they'd heal nicely and the plumage would return. Castiel looked at him, then around the room.

“How long will we be here?” His voice was soft, curious. It was a vast improvement over the guarded distrust and malice of their initial conversation.

“Uh, two and half, maybe three days. The drive is about thirty hours total, but we’ve gotta make stops for fuel and so Bal can sleep.” Dean dog-eared the page he was reading and set his book down.

The other man looked at him and looked at him, always examining him. “You came that far for me?”

Dean nodded. “It's not the farthest I've gone.”

He wasn't sure what to do in times like this, what to say or how to say it. Things were so new and raw, so fragile. As often as he'd tried to think of what it would be like, he’d never imagined this. The slow, measured words or the veiled interrogation. Not that he wasn't glad that Castiel wasn't just assaulting him or avoiding him completely, but this was some kind of odd middle ground. An area built out of necessity and close quarters. Hopefully he wouldn't fuck it up.

“I'm not sure what to make of your behavior.” Castiel was staring, still trying to pick him apart. “I slammed you into a wall and you retaliated by feeding me, letting me bathe, and allowing me to choose my own clothing. I don't understand it. What do you want? What do you gain from this?”

Dean licked his lips and swallowed hard, trying to formulate a response that might satisfy the angel. “I, uh...”

What was he supposed to say? A five year search that cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars even before the final auction, the research into Castiel's file and what he could find of his history. There was so much effort put forth and really, if he were in the other man's position he'd be suspicious too.

So how would he placate himself? “I don't like seeing people suffer.”

“I'm not a person, I'm an angel.” The words were said with the sort of hard acceptance that was beaten in after hope had been beaten out.

Dean held Castiel’s gaze and began to realize how deep the real wounds were. This angel had fought so hard for so long, but there was no way he could have escaped the trade undamaged.

Dean sighed softly. “You're a person, Cas.”

He tried to put all the conviction he could into the statement, kept his eyes trained on Castiel's and watched as they flicked all over him, as the breathing patterns changed and muscles near the other man's ears twitched.

After a tense moment, the angel nodded to him and looked back down at the floor. Dean was almost expecting that to be the end of it, that they'd sit there in the tense silence and try not to acknowledge how awkward it was.

Then Castiel spoke softly, almost a whisper. “You called me Cas.”

Blue eyes flicked back up to look at him, something almost vulnerable in them. Dean held his breath and tried not to tense as he spoke. “Is that alright?”

A hard swallow, fidgeting wings and fingers, then a nod. Dean exhaled sharply, relieved. He smiled wide and a little goofy. It wasn't big, just a nickname, but it was something. Cas' lips twitched in an almost grin back and Dean felt like it wouldn't be as hard as he thought to make progress. Even if it was, it would be more than worth it.


	3. Impossible Not to Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : detailed description of a panic attack in this chapter

Castiel slept the rest of the first day once they finished talking, his wings splayed wide over the pull-out mattress. Dean grabbed a couple pillows and blankets from a nearby trunk and took the floor. He finished probably his fifth reread of _Slaughterhouse 5_ and started feeling a little antsy as Cas rested. Sometime around one in the morning he was convinced that Cas was going to be down for a while, so he tucked his books up against the wall and rolled onto his stomach to sleep.

• •

When Dean woke, it was to the sound of cabinets closing. At some point he'd rolled over onto his back and there was a sore spot near his right shoulder hating him for it. He groaned and stretched, sitting up to yawn and realizing in the process that there was a nice smear of drool across the side of his face.

He sighed and wiped his mouth while muttering quietly. “Yeah, 'cause that's dignified.”

Cas was staring at him when he looked up, holding a half-eaten pear. Dean smiled and waved, standing up slowly. He scratched at his stomach and motioned toward the makeshift stall in the back. “Gotta take a leak.”

Castiel shuffled closer to the cabinets and Dean ambled past, almost tripping when a feather slipped under his heel. If anything, seeing Dean in the morning would quickly dispel any horrific scenarios Cas may have dreamed up about Dean being some over the top slave driver. Sociopaths were never this clumsy. A high-pitched chirp made Dean curse and huff, halfway through peeing, and that was when Balthazar decided to call. He finished up and grabbed some hand sanitizer before he gingerly made his way past Castiel and over to the crates beside the couch.

The chirping tone continued on until Dean finally located the handset and answered. “Hey, what?”

Balthazar huffed on the other end, obviously amused. “Good morning to you, too, sunshine. We're at a rest stop, I figured you'd want to come out and restock. I think they may even have pie.”

“Pie?” Dean perked up a bit and looked down at himself, still mostly undressed from the day before. “Let me get dressed.”

“Dean—“ Alarm made the angel's tone sharp.

“Shit, not like that, Bal.” Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It's a long story, give me a few minutes to get decent.”

“Alright.” His tone was a little disbelieving, but Dean knew he'd wait long enough for them to meet up outside.

Dean set the handset down and gathered his clothing, slipping it on quickly. His shirt was rumpled and his pants were wrinkled, but the press had seen worse of him (and while wearing less) so he wasn’t all that concerned.

Castiel was eyeing him curiously, still chewing away at bits of fruit. Dean knelt down and began to tie his shoes. “We're at a rest stop, so I'm gonna go out and get some junk food. I can have Bal come in if you don't want to be left alone.”

Castiel looked at his wings and fidgeted, thumb brushing over the edge of a bitten-out chunk in his snack. There was hesitancy in his gaze, but also determination. “I would appreciate angelic company.”

Dean grinned and nodded. “Alright, I'll send him in.”

─────────────────

Dean Winchester was perplexing nearly bordering on worrisome. He was kind in a way Castiel was unused to experiencing. Humans weren't kind—they were greedy, demented, torturous, and creative. But Dean, Dean gave him choices. Unshackled him, defended him. Gave him a sort of freedom in his ability to get up when he wanted and feed himself. This human was offering him genuine comfort.

Castiel had overheard of the Winchesters from previous owners. The entire family was spoken of with a sort of distant confusion and fascination. In the past he'd heard speculation of training techniques that made it so their angels behaved, were loyal and docile. If they were consistently treated this way, treated with the sort of respect given only to humans, then it was easy to see why.

Nothing in Dean's scent or behavior seemed to indicate he was hiding something, no ulterior motives or deeply hidden secrets. His voice was even, his heart beating calmly in his chest. So he was either the most adept liar Castiel had ever had the misfortune to encounter, or he was telling the truth. Incidents from the past day were playing on repeat on his mind. Like the way Dean had looked at him when slammed against the wall, the calm control, not acting on his panic. Then he'd offered what privacy and courtesy he could. The fact that he'd turned around instead of gawking when Castiel was washing, how he'd made sure to put them on even footing, proving that he wasn't hiding weapons. All of it weighed heavily, danced around Castiel and dared him to hope.

But it still could have been a ruse, luring him into a false sense of security and then slowly changing. He'd witnessed such tactics in the past. They were slow plays and usually took months. An owner would be kind in the beginning, would offer food and comfort, and then little by little retract them. The cruelty would trickle in and settle over the household like a disease.

There were tells of course, when a household was destined to become truly horrific. It was always in the other angels. Humans could lie, mask their scent with perfumes and the like. But angels didn't lie to one another. He'd see what Balthazar had to say, how he behaved and spoke of Dean. If this man was waiting to be a master, Castiel would find out. He wouldn't let the outward appearance of tender care lure him in. Not again.

Dean slipped out of the trailer easily, wrinkling his nose as the smell of gasoline and exhaust washed over him. Castiel covered the lower half of his face, unaccustomed to being out in the thick of a city. Normally, the only smells he got were of a different nature, pungent and foul. The intensity of the ones filtering in from the pumps was just as sickening, but far sharper. Dean was lucky to have such dull senses. How easy life must have been with fewer headaches.

The sound, too, was a shock. The insulation in the walls warded off all noise so long as the suppression system was on. When the door opened and the sound breached, Castiel wondered how any other angel could deal with all the racket. Their ancestors had lived in the cool quiet of the mountains. Maybe they never should have left. Or maybe they should’ve sent the humans away instead of trying to learn them.

After a short minute the door opened again, very slowly. A pair of icy blue eyes peered in, searching. They found him, the corners crinkling with a smile. He stepped in slowly, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. Obviously this was Balthazar. Castiel wasn't sure what other angel would be lurking about freely. The angel's neck was clear, no strips of metal or leather hanging from him. Uncollared? It was odd to say the least. His clothing was casual for the most part, a jacket over a wide-necked shirt. The back of it probably had slits that buttoned under the wings; Castiel had seen them before in catalogs. Some humans liked to give their prizes the look of luxury without any actual effort toward it. Though these clothes looked like they were tailored.

Two wings were relaxed and at ease behind the other angel, soft and healthy, a light gold color Castiel had seen plenty of times before. There were no artificial smells on him, not from soap or perfumes, so it was unlikely that Dean was the sort of man to try and groom them to perfection. Not that Castiel was sure his own wings could even handle heavy care like that right now. It was obvious that great effort was being taken on Balthazar's part to avoid looking at Castiel's wings, and he found himself grateful for it. His previous holders had taken enough from him; he didn't need a reminder that there were some things others could see.

“Hello, I'm Balthazar. Dean said you asked for me?” There was no tremble in his voice, no underlying tension to anything he said.

Dean’s name didn’t feel heavy with hatred or disdain. Balthazar’s scent didn't change either, still soft and subtle save for the lingering smell of old oil on his wings and skin. He obviously didn't have a shower in the cab of the truck. Other than that, he was... happy. Oh.

Castiel cleared his throat and took another deep breath, sniffing the air of the angel around him more thoroughly. Definitely happy, though with some darker notes of fatigue to match the heavier scents of body odor. Colors danced across the edge of Castiel’s vision as the information came together, giddy golds and oranges that left him a little perplexed.

“You're happy?” The question caught the other angel off guard, his head tilting and face taking on a curious squint. “I mean to say that you... you're...”

Balthazar smiled a little wider and spread his wings away from him before leaning on the counter. “Haven't held a conversation in some time, have you?” There was no mockery in the statement, just a simple observation. Castiel sighed and shook his head. “It's alright. What did you want to know?”

“Is Dean honest?” It was blunt, maybe even a little rude to put Balthazar on the spot like that, but he needed to know if he was going to have to fight back. Better to get an early start.

A gentle chuckle weaved it's way through the other man's features, ruffling his wings slightly from where they rested behind him. Castiel envied the relaxed pose of them, the trust Balthazar had in his surroundings.

“The one thing I can tell you about Dean Winchester is that it's impossible for him _not_ to care. He is going to treat you like a human being, he'll respect you and give you space, won't force you to do anything. And you're going to want to fight, to demand to know why he is the way he is.” Balthazar held his gaze, calm and open in a way Castiel had never seen from another owned being. “Yes, Dean is honest. He's stubborn and a tad idealistic, but he's also very honest and noble to a fault. He just wants to help, regardless of most any consequences to himself or his image.”

The door opened again, Dean stepping inside with two bags slung onto each arm. Balthazar moved away from the counter smoothly as Dean kicked the door shut and set the bags down, wiggling himself free somewhat comically. The other angel chuckled and spared Castiel a glance before rolling his eyes.

“How does the phrase go, Dean? Speak of the Devil and he shall come?” Balthazar's tone was amused, arms crossed in front of his chest casually.

Dean snorted and started pulling out pints of ice cream. “Didn't know Sam was meeting up with us.”

“I'll tell him you said that.” It was a warning, something fond and practiced through repeated scenarios just like the one playing out.

They were friends, and Castiel almost felt like an intruder between them, something sticking out awkwardly like a bad centerpiece. Dean held up one of the containers and shook it almost like a rattle. “Pint of mint chocolate chip to buy your silence?”

Balthazar sighed dramatically and plucked the confection from Dean's fingers. “I suppose if I'm going to be bought.”

Just when Castiel's discomfort was mounting, Dean turned to him, a soft look on his face as he held up a cup of vanilla. “Figured we could start with the basics and work our way up. If you want, I mean. If not, we've got a freezer.”

Balthazar moved to stand behind Dean, obviously making his way out of the small space. A reassuring smile played across his features, and he nodded gently before departing. Castiel took the treat and sniffed at it out of habit, idly wondering how feral he must have looked. Dean milled through the rest of the bags, taking out probably every flavor of ice cream the convenience store carried, as well as two pies.

Castiel opened the lid and swiped his finger across the top, melted dairy stuck on his skin when he pulled it away. A gentle lick had his tongue exploding with sweetness. Not just that, but the warm notes of vanilla and the density of the cream. He blinked down at it, trying to remember the last time he'd tasted anything loaded with that much flavor—not to mention something remotely pleasant. Dean was humming to himself absently, reaching down to the lower cabinets where a mini-fridge was hidden away. It occurred to him that Dean hadn't watched him test it, hadn't waited for any sort of reaction. Any thanks.

_It's impossible for Dean Winchester not to care._

A gentle clearing of his throat had Dean's attention, his green eyes earnest. In the midst of the new location, the anxiety of his entire life changing again, he hadn't taken the time to analyze Dean's scent as thoroughly as he'd liked. He'd done enough to tell Dean wasn't lying to him at any point, but there was far more to the way someone smelled than the state of their intentions. As before, Dean was open, honest like Balthazar had assured. A gentle sweetness of relaxation drifted away from him, spiced with a bit of lingering nerves and some share of happiness. Blues and silvers tinged with flecks of pale yellow covered his periphery, Dean hiding nothing from him.

“Thank you.” His voice was quiet, and he tipped the ice cream forward to indicate it.

Maybe a little earlier in his life, he would have been hopeful enough to wonder if he was only thanking Dean for the food, but he couldn't afford hope. Maybe Dean would prove him wrong. Balthazar certainly seemed confident of just such a thing happening.

Dean nodded. “No problem.”

• •

The mixed blessing of heightened angelic senses meant that he could easily tell what everyone was feeling, where they'd been, who they were with, and even down to minute things such as what they'd eaten. The list went on almost indefinitely. Unfortunately, it also meant he could tell just how badly he needed to properly bathe. Dean had been gracious enough to allow him to wipe himself down, but he still stank. There was no way Dean couldn't tell, but he was being polite about it. Under his own musk he could always smell Dean, his scent a bit more airy than Castiel’s own. Human, but with undertones he couldn't quite decipher. Anymore all humans smelled alike, though, so he didn't pay it any mind. So long as the scent didn't change drastically, he was fine just letting everything settle. One thing at a time. It was how he'd survived this long.

The ice cream was delicious, yes, but far too rich for him to eat more than a couple modest spoonfuls before putting it away. Dean had listed the other flavors as were stashed in the freezer: strawberry, chocolate, cherry, and a decorative one that claimed to actually be cake.

For the most part Dean read, and Castiel wished he knew enough English to tell what the titles actually meant. In his life, though, he'd never been taught to read any human languages, just speak them. For the purposes of written communication, all he knew was Enochian. The orphanage had been very basic and limited in its funding. The bizarre and seemingly inherent distrust of angels meant that even children were blatantly disregarded in matters of social service.

Castiel didn't think anyone even knew where it all started, if they could be bothered to care in the first place. Perhaps humans were just naturally terrified of and biased against anything different. Or maybe that was just his own experience and paranoia talking. Oftentimes he found it nearly impossible to separate himself from them.

• •

The smallness of the space hadn't been an issue at first. Castiel was too distracted looking for possible threats to focus on the confinement of the trailer. A day and a half in, however, and Castiel was finding the synthetic light and cold floors to be impossibly overbearing. He would lay down on the bed, the formerly clean, cool sheets beginning to take on a bit of his foul smell, and he would twitch from the tips of his wings to the knuckles of his toes. Then he would sit up, Dean would look at him, and he would feel absurd, even foolish. After his fifth lap of the floor, Dean closed his book and cleared his throat.

“Cas, you alright?” It was a stupid question, really. Obviously he wasn't alright, or he wouldn't have been pacing and twitching like someone on the verge of a psychotic break.

Instead of snapping, though, he decided to rein himself in, as always, and took a deep breath before speaking. “How much longer until we reach your estate?”

Dean took a moment to think, licking his lips. “We've been in here about a day and a half. We should be back by tomorrow in the afternoon, I'd guess. I can check with Bal up front, just to be sure.”

Castiel took another deep breath and tried not to focus on the fact that there was still another day of this ahead of him. Normally he was sedated during transport, so he'd never had to try and occupy himself for an extended amount of time in a moving vehicle. It was different from being stationary, in a bedroom with a window. This was just a box on wheels, and he wasn't sure who or what was outside, simply that Dean would have likely told Balthazar to take the fastest way home. His throat tightened, his wings shivering and pulling in toward his back in a defensive position. Dean stood slowly, his book forgotten.

Panic was rising in Dean as well, but it was different than Castiel's own. It wasn't as thick, oppressive. His was brittle, brought on solely by the state of the being he shared residence with.

Instead of making any move forward, Dean simply stood where he was. “Castiel?”

His voice was low and steady, like it had been before they'd entered, and he promised all he wanted to do was free Castiel's legs. Those chains now sat in a bin, one Castiel himself had filled because somehow Dean had known it wasn't his place to throw them out.

The knobs of Castiel's elbows dug into his own sides as he hugged himself, fingernails biting into his already abused skin. Dean's arms twitched, like he was barely resisting raising them in a placating gesture.

“Castiel, listen, you're alright. You're safe, I swear. I need you to breathe with me, okay?”

Castiel whimpered, grinding his teeth against the noise. Safe was a word he'd not known for a very long time. He wasn't actively threatened, but that didn't mean safe. His eyes darted around, trying frantically to take in every detail available. They fell on Dean and met his gaze. There was a desperate look in the human’s eyes, silently pleading for Castiel to focus. His scent matched it, almost sour in his mounting panic. The beating of his heart was worse than a drum, his pulse thumping with its force on the side of his neck.

Above that, though, he could hear the steady rhythm of Dean's lungs filling and the slow exhales that followed. Despite the panic, the need to reach out, Dean stayed back, gave him space and did what he could. Tears began to sting Castiel’s eyes, different from the exhilaration of having his wings released. He sniffed hard and reached up to rub his face, his jaw beginning to ache with the force of his teeth grinding.

“Cas, please.” Dean put one hand on the bin beside him, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the lid.

Castiel dug his fingers into his sides further and tried to match his breathing with Dean’s. His muscles quivered, every inhale shaking in his chest. The exhales were worse, vocal cords vibrating out pathetic whimpers and sobs. He'd been dealing with this for years, was able to shut himself off entirely. Why did he have to break down here? Why now? Why couldn’t he shut down?

Dean kept his gaze, kept breathing. Eventually they were matched, drawing in breaths so large they took almost three seconds, then forcing them back out with the same slowness. Dean's heart slowed and Castiel's followed, his fingers pulling away from his sides. Blood sat under his nails, sharp stinging hissing against his ribs. Sadness filled Dean's eyes and scent, a bitter note that made Castiel want to vomit. Though, truthfully, that was likely more to do with his anxiety attack. Still, he didn't need the feigned pity of a man that legally owned him. Something was different when he calmed, he didn't feel as cold as usual.

As he made his way over to the toilet to empty his stomach, he tried not to think about it. Or the way that he was quickly becoming inclined to believe Balthazar’s assurances and Dean’s unabashed honesty. It was safer to learn of such things on his own with more time.

• •

Three hours had passed since his panic attack. All Castiel could bring himself to do was lie on his bed and try not to think. He could feel Dean's eyes on him, even though every time he glanced down Dean was still reading. His body was drained, his mind sluggish even against something as simple as memories. It was odd to have a pillow under his head. Well, considering he'd spent the past three months sleeping in a stone cell, maybe the entire concept of a bed should have been odd. But the pillow was what struck him.

The sheets and thin blanket he'd been given were soft on his skin, obviously pre-washed. His clothing as well. Every article had felt worn in his hands, but was obviously new. Everything had been cleaned before it was given to him, designed to be gentle to him. Yet none of it smelled like detergent. Even the low odor soaps used by humans with sensitive skin would leave evidence. Sometimes it was the prickly chemical smell of imitation flowers, or a residue that would absorb the oil of his skin and feathers and make a film over the fibers. The only film building up on anything he touched was from his own lingering filth.

The slow realization swirled in his head, round and round—Dean had used soaps made specifically for angels on everything in the trailer. Maybe he should have made the connection earlier, but it was only now clicking. It started to hit him full force, the consideration taken for him before he was even around. Before Dean even knew if he would be able to make the purchase, or if someone else would have made it there first and forced this return trip to be taken alone.

Dean said he'd been searching for five years. Five years worth of filling a trailer, and then driving across the country with it. Castiel took a deep breath to keep any more panic from taking control of his system.

_He wants to help._

Numbers echoed in his mind, the highest price anyone had paid for Castiel in over seven years. Money wasn't an issue, and obviously neither was the amount of effort it took to house and feed a fully grown male angel for a three day journey. It wasn't about gain for Dean. Not any kind of obvious gain that Castiel could see, anyway.

He fluttered his wings, rubbing raw patches of skin against soft cotton, and sighed as his head sank further into the pillow. He was just so tired.

• •

When he woke up, he felt sick to his stomach, barely able to resist retching into the sheets. He didn't know if it was because he was hungry or sick. Long ago he gave up differentiating between the two. They hit a bump in the road, and behind him he heard a small clatter of something heavy and dull thumping into the sink.

“Dammit, Balthazar! Swear to God, I'm gonna cut your pay.” Dean was muttering under his breath, shifting around and moving across the floor before finally settling back in his claimed place by the foot of the bed.

Castiel tucked his wings close and pushed himself up to his knees, swaying slightly when his head began to swim. Hungry, then, not sick. He turned to face Dean, scooting forward until his feet were planted on the floor. “You pay him?”

Dean looked up from his container of strawberry ice cream, a thin thread of confusion causing flashes of gray at the edge of Castiel’s sight. “Excuse me?”

“You were talking about cutting Balthazar's pay.” Castiel clarified, tilting his head and watching the confusion get chased away by understanding, gray flashes soothed down to softer white that receded quickly.

“Yeah, Balthazar works for our company as a driver, and sometimes I'll have him do a meet and greet with me. I'll see how people respond to him so I can tell if I want to work with them or not.” A large scoop of ice cream disappeared into Dean's mouth, the air vibrating with noise he probably didn't even know he was making.

“Do all of your slaves have jobs?” Dean's mouth turned down at the mention of slaves and he swallowed his food with a grimace.

Something darker was making its way into Dean's scent, a distinct displeasure that bordered on hatred. It was acrid and made the corners of Castiel's eyes flood with dark reds that bled and fluttered sickly.

“Really wish I could say they weren't slaves, y'know?” He stabbed his spoon into his food a couple times before speaking again. “The, uh, the people we house can get jobs if they want. We give them tools so they can.”

Dean stood slowly and made his way back over to the sink, replacing the lid on the ice cream and tucking it back into the freezer. Castiel watched him curiously, the hard set to his brow and the way his lips stayed pursed since the mention of slavery. He chose not to comment on it.

“What do you mean by tools?” Castiel stood from the bed, his stomach insistent to the point of sharp pains that forced him toward the cabinets.

Dean moved out of his way and sat back down on the floor. “Well, for example, Bal needed driver's ed and a license. We paid for his education and testing.”

Castiel hummed and frowned when he saw that there were no more pears. He grabbed an apple and took a large bite. The flesh was tougher than the other fruit, the juice thinner and more tart. Silence washed over them for a handful of minutes, Castiel eating two apples and half a peach before Dean spoke again.

“We should be home in a couple hours, by the way. That's probably why the roads are getting rougher.” Almost on cue they hit another bump, and a book Dean had set on the bins above him fell, the spine bouncing off the top of his head as the book made its way to the floor.

Castiel chuckled quietly, trying to keep Dean from hearing. It didn't work. Dean looked up and found him stifling a small grin. For a moment Castiel was nervous, people generally didn't take well to being laughed at, but Dean laughed with him, fingers massaging what was sure to be a thick knot in his scalp.

“Y'know, I'm beginning to think he's aiming for the potholes.”

Castiel relaxed and smiled, an odd feeling expanding in his chest, making it lighter. “Perhaps he wants to test the vehicle's suspension.”

Another wide grin lifted Dean's face, the last remnants of bitterness fading from Castiel's perception of him.


	4. The Loft

The roads evened out the closer they got to the Winchester estate. The chirping from the walkee came again, and Dean answered quickly, Balthazar's voice crackling through mechanically. “Dean, we're a half hour out. Should I call Sam and have him move everyone to the Garden?”

Dean turned to Castiel, regarding him as he sat on the couch. The bed had been folded back in earlier that afternoon. “Yeah, that'd be for the best, I think.”

“Alright, I'll call in.” Dean gave his acknowledgment and put the handset away.

He stood and stretched, setting his books back into a bin beside the door. Castiel swallowed and breathed deeply, willing himself to keep calm. He'd just barely had time to get used to the trailer, and now they were relocating again. Where would Dean be putting him? Would he have his own room and be expected to fend for himself? Did the angels have more communal housing, like in the old cities he'd read about? What about bathing? Would he have his own bathroom or one open to the rest of the house?

Dean cleared his throat, and Castiel glanced up at him before looking away again to watch the nervous fidgeting of his own fingers. He had a hangnail that would probably start bleeding if he kept at it.

“Cas? You okay?” Part of him was quickly becoming annoyed with Dean's constant worry and care. He'd survived fifteen years of some of the worst treatment humanity had to offer; he could handle this.

Instead of voicing this, he simply swallowed and met Dean's eyes again. “I'm... nervous, I suppose.”

Dean gave him a crooked smile, kind enough that it picked at the pit in his stomach that wished Dean would make this easy by living up to his species' reputation. “Well, the house is gonna be empty when we head in and we've got all day, so take all the time you need.”

Castiel winced as he pulled too hard on the loose skin beside his fingernail and it started bleeding. He pulled the tip of his finger into his mouth and soothed over the sting with his tongue, focusing on the shine of Dean's shoes as they paced across the floor. The smells in the trailer we getting old, stale, and most of them were coming from Castiel. While it was beginning to show that Dean needed to bathe soon, most of his odor was masked by the old oils and dirt in Castiel's feathers. Public restroom or not, Castiel was showering the moment they were in.

• •

They were parked for nearly two minutes before a knock came at the door of the trailer. Dean had turned the sound suppression off shortly before they pulled in. Castiel backed himself against the couch and clasped his hands in his lap, his fingers interlaced with one another providing an anchor for his attention so he didn't fall into the rising panic swirling sickly in his chest. The fruit he'd eaten earlier felt like it would come back up. Light from outside flooded the compartment and Castiel had to close his eyes against it. It wasn't like at the gas station; this light was natural, the air not smog-filled or sour as it flowed in.

He could hear birds chirping, dozens of them it seemed, and bees as well. A faint, sharp sweetness wafted in with the breeze, flowers of all kind carried on the air. The onslaught of new information to his senses dulled him to the majority of the conversation Balthazar and Dean were having right in front of him, but he caught the tail end.

“... call you when we're settled, and you can have Sam let everyone back in.” All he could make out of them were their profiles, the intensity of the sun forming a wall of white behind them. He could see Balthazar nod and clap Dean on the shoulder before hopping out and disappearing.

It had been years since he'd seen sunlight like this. Most auctions were held toward the evening or at night, and his cells had all been underground. Normally his eyes should have adjusted in seconds, but the brightness hurt, and it was taking minutes instead. Dean's footsteps thumped across the floor until he was crouched just a foot away.

“Like I said, house is empty, we can go in any time.” Dean leaned back and sat down cross-legged, relaxing in the face of whatever wait Castiel put him through.

It was absurd, panicking about walking into the new house. Somehow it was easier when he was drugged and carted in. At least then the changes happened when he didn't have to face them. On the other hand, there wouldn't be the feeling of 'the morning after', waking up in a place he didn't know. Dean stared out the door, breathing deeply and evenly as he watched something Castiel couldn't see.

Castiel remembered his anxiety the night before, the way Dean had pleaded with him to sync their breathing. Was he doing the same thing now? It seemed likely enough.

“Where will I be staying?” The question seemed to catch Dean off guard, who startled and whipped around to face him. The light was starting to fade away to colors, an expanse of bright green coming to his attention in the form of a well-kept lawn.

Dean swallowed roughly and Castiel could sense apprehension from him, even without being able to pick his scent up over the smells of the grass and flowers outside. More panic was rising in Castiel's chest, something almost like betrayal accompanying it. This was where his good fortune ended. Dean might have given him these small freedoms, given him food and clothing, let him rest, but he would still be like every other human buying other living creatures. The freedom of where to lay at night wouldn't be afforded.

“Tryin' to figure out how to explain it.” Castiel ground his jaw and kept his bitter words from being aired. “We did some renovation on the house a couple years back and part of it happened in my room.” Dean met his eyes and for a moment he looked almost as nervous as the angel. “I had a second floor put in above my kitchen and the little living area. It's almost like a loft, I guess. I was gonna give you that. It's got a full bathroom, a bed, and a closet. Pretty much everything I could fit in there.”

Castiel sat up straighter and watched Dean intently. He wasn't going to force Castiel to share his bed? Then why not simply give him his own room and be rid of him?

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “Look, if it makes you uncomfortable you don't have to stay there. I just didn't want to dump you off in some far corner of the house all alone. Figured maybe it'd be an easier transition if you had someone there to help.”

Laughter echoed through the air, Castiel lifting his head to look out the door. He could see trees in the distance, a few scattered clouds in the sky. From the sound of it, the laughter came from children, and Castiel couldn't help the surprise from showing on his face.

“You house children?” Their previous conversation was put on hold for a moment as he looked back at Dean, head tilting to the side softly.

Dean blinked at the sudden change in topic and looked back out the door for a moment, leaning back far enough that Castiel thought he might fall before he sat straight again and nodded. He turned back slowly, his tone was cautious and a little unsure. “Uh, yeah, if we see children on the docket at an auction we grab 'em before anyone else can. There's a couple people here with teaching certification, so they get an education. Sammy made sure of that.”

Castiel nodded and looked back at his fingers, scabs on his knuckles and dirt in the grooves of his skin. “I'll look at the loft and make my decision.”

There was a moment of silence before Dean let out a long breath, not quite relieved, though some of the tension did bleed out of his frame with it. “Alright. Cool.”

The air in the trailer warmed with the heat of summer and sweat began to bead up across Castiel's forehead with it. Dean for his part seemed used to the heat, not reacting much when sweat began to dampen his clothing. The deeper scent Castiel had been unable to identify in the beginning was back, settling low in the air underneath the smells of flowers. It was musky and natural, something he felt like he'd smelled before but couldn't quite place. He let his attention stay on it and on the way Dean looked up to the sky, his anxiety falling to a manageable level. Without a word he stood, and Dean looked up at him in surprise before moving to join him slowly.

Castiel took a deep breath to steady himself and looked back out the door. “We should get moving, after you.”

“Alright.” Dean nodded softly and took slow steps to the door. After a moment of hesitation, Castiel forced himself to move and follow.

He clutched a small bag he’d filled that morning with some of the grooming products he’d liked, trying to tamp down the anxiety that was rebuilding high in his chest and making the taste of bile fade onto the back of his tongue. Even with three days of evidence and an angel’s testimony to the goodness in Dean, there were still voices of doubt in the back of his mind telling him not to trust, not to think that Dean’s promise of separate sleeping areas would be genuine.

The sun nearly blinded him when he stepped out of the trailer, Dean standing at ease in the lush lawn that sprawled out. The green of it seemed to glow, reflecting brightly onto every light-colored surface, including the white outer walls of the trailer. Castiel nodded to Dean, hoping his movements didn’t seem as jerky and panicked as they felt. Dean offered a shaky, uncertain smile and made his way to the front of the estate.

Castiel was a little dumbstruck when he realized that they’d parked at the front of the house. He paused beside a bed of colorful flowers that he couldn’t name and swallowed roughly.

Dean stopped and turned to him, concern coloring his face and his scent. “Hey, you alright, Cas?”

The angel’s eyes snapped away from the large porch and tall pillars of the house’s façade and back to the man standing before him. It was clear that Dean wanted to approach, but kept thinking better of it, instead shifting from foot to foot to alleviate his want to stride forward and comfort.

“This is the first time I’ve walked through the front door to a prospective home since I was a child.” Castiel squinted against the sunlight to take in as many details of the shaded porch as he could from the safety of the yard.

He knew once he was on the elegant steps leading up to the wide entryway, he couldn’t pretend this was anything other than what it was. The moment he walked through the front door, everything would be final. Dean would own him, he would be private property living within larger private property. Even if Dean gave all appearances to hating the concept of slavery, looked at his purchase as a rescue, it didn’t make Castiel any less a slave and that huge house any less a prison.

Castiel looked away from Dean again, distinctly uncomfortable with the heavy notes of sympathy that caused flashes of lavender to assault his vision. The moment he began walking again Dean turned, only the slightest hint of hesitation in his first few steps.

Upon closer inspection he could see that the steps weren’t painted and the wood was severely bleached by the sun. The entryway was huge, more than enough room for his wings to comfortably fit with just one door open. That at least gave some small measure of comfort. He’d been in mansions before, but they were built after humans and even in their grand size they were cramped. This place had the feeling of being built for two species and Castiel allowed himself to wonder about it briefly before following Dean to to the stairs.

The very tips of his bottom wings dragged across the floor as he walked behind Dean. They went up one stairwell and stopped on a landing, a large window bathing them in sunlight and proudly displaying the back lawn. Compared to other estates he’d seen the yard here was unkempt and ungroomed. Dean didn’t linger long, taking slow steps up another short flight of stairs that gave Castiel more than enough time to catch up. The hallway was simple enough, not adorned with portraits or gaudy fixtures. Just simple cream-colored paint with dark red accents.

They turned right and walked to the very end, stopping in front of what had to have been Dean’s bedroom. Just a simple oak door sitting in the far wall, again wide enough to fit his wings. Dean stood back patiently and waited for him to come close.

“You can open the door if you want, scope everything out.” There was a subtle tension in Dean’s words, nervousness he was trying his best to hide so as to keep Castiel calm as well. If he weren’t in such good control of himself Castiel might have found it endearing.

He swallowed roughly and put his hand on the doorknob. The creaking of the hinges seemed loud enough to burst his eardrums in the forced silence of the vacated manor. With the door positioned as it was, Castiel couldn’t see into Dean’s room from the doorway. Instead there were three short stairs, then a turn left and three more. He jumped them, legs jittery and instincts telling him that this was where it would all turn sour. Directly in front of him was a large window and a bed off to the side of it, all framed by walls painted a warm shade of beige. Within a few short steps to the window he could see the tops of trees and a large metal cage over them. That must have been the Garden Dean had spoken to Balthazar about.

Out in the hall Dean took a few steps away from the door, and Castiel relaxed marginally, enough to turn around and take in the sight of bookshelves covering both walls from the bed to the door. An end table and two chairs sat in the corner, a small lamp pulling the whole thing together and making it rather cozy. On the other side of the doorway and steps was Dean’s bathroom, the light tiles reflecting all the natural sunlight pouring in from the huge window at Castiel’s back.

In the area just in front of the bathroom was a desk and a dresser as well as a couch and coffee table. It was the only area to seem cramped, but served the purpose of a living room rather well. Directly across from the bed was an open archway leading into a kitchen. It took up most of the space on that side of the room, but it was bright and open, pale yellow walls with marble accents and light hardwood flooring. An island in the center that was topped with a darker wood and covered in scuffs and stains. It was definitely well-used.

Castiel noticed a space above the kitchen entryway, another seven or eight feet until the ceiling. From where he was on the first level he couldn’t see what was up there. He imagined that to be the loft Dean had told him about. There was no ladder or set of steps leading up which Castiel found interesting. The height wasn’t an issue for him, he could easily jump up or down from it. But the lack of easy access would definitely pose a problem for Dean.

Tentative steps approached the door, and Castiel turned to see Dean stick his head in with a nervous smile. “Mind if I come in?”

Castiel nodded and pulled his wings close to his back as Dean approached. He looked back to the open space, weighing his options. “You can’t see into the loft from down here.”

Dean looked like he was trying not to fidget, small sparks of orange and yellow skittering across Castiel’s peripheral vision. “Yeah, I know. Wanted to give you as much privacy as I could.”

The room was filled with Dean’s scent, drowning out almost everything else around him. He counted himself lucky that it didn’t upset his sinuses or fill him with a sense of dread. If Dean’s behavior held maybe he could even get used to it. Even here there was the undercurrent of the smell he couldn’t name, something deep and sharp that drew his curiosity and awareness. There would be time to figure it out later, though; now he needed to inspect this loft Dean had built for him. The jump was simple, aided by the muscle he’d built up from struggling against the hundreds of pounds of chains Dean had only recently freed him from.

The colors in the loft were different, soft grays and blues that made the atmosphere seem cool, calmer. The floor seemed to extend beyond the walls of Dean’s room, but it could have been a trick in the way the room was put together. Above his head the ceiling curved up, subtly vaulted and giving even more space. A low-set bed rested on a rug laid out over more hardwood. It was just a simple frame and mattress, nothing set on it yet. He imagined Dean would probably let him choose his own bedding, not that he knew anything beyond distant memories of orphanage beds with scratchy wool blankets. The beds given to him by previous masters weren’t actually his, so they didn’t count.

To the left of the bed was a window almost as tall as the wall. The window faced the same direction as the one on the first level, giving him a perfect view of the aviary from where he would sleep. A flash of bright gold wings dashed up from below the treetops then dove back down. He looked to his own wings, determined to use them when his plumage grew back in. At his back was a closet, as promised, and a bathroom that sat just above Dean’s below. He walked over and flicked the light on, treated to more soft gray tones and light blue tiles. Beside the toilet was a wicker chest, towels wrapped in plastic set neatly on top of the lid. The shower took up nearly half of the room, tall sliding glass doors opening to reveal two shower heads and plenty of shelving for grooming supplies. It reminded him that he desperately needed to bathe.

He left the light on and went to the edge of his floor, looking down at Dean, then back to his new living quarters. “I believe this will suffice. Thank you.”

Dean smiled widely, the bright colors of nervousness leaving Castiel’s vision as Dean nodded. The happiness and relief made Castiel offer a small smile before he backed away and headed to the bathroom again.

“Hey, Cas,” he stopped and went back to the ledge, “in your closet, there’s bedding and clothes. Everything you’ll need.”

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Dean would have thought to pre-stock his room. He would probably find the wicker chest in the bathroom full of soaps just for him. Maybe after a time he would grow used to the small kindnesses paid to him.


	5. Made for Angels

The newest member of their household was almost entirely silent the first few days, eating up in the loft and seeming to only be active when Dean was asleep or out. Sam was concerned about the behavior, but Dean knew it would just take time. Cas had been violated by everyone before them, and there wasn’t a guarantee that he would ever actually trust them. Dean was taking a lot on faith and hope. Even if Cas never recovered enough to like any of them, at least he was safe and fed.

On the fifth night Dean was woken by a scream and the sound of objects falling. He shot up out of bed and turned all the lights on, effectively blinding himself as he cranked the dimmers as high as they could go. The sound of thrashing made Dean wonder if he should try and get up into the loft, but what could he do then? There was no way he could try any method of waking the angel that wouldn’t increase Cas’ anxiety or get them both injured. He glanced around his room quickly and saw his stereo, quickly forming an idea.

His personal music player was already connected and it was a simple matter to scroll through and find a suitable song. Specifically _[The Toreadors](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4DNGMoMNLRY)_ from _Carmen_. He turned the speakers in the walls up as high as he dared and pressed play. The first few notes caused him to give a full body jolt, despite knowing they were coming.

The song played half way through before Cas turned off the lights in the loft to signal that he was awake and okay. Dean turned the stereo down and then off, standing awkwardly for a moment before turning the rest of the lights off and going back to his own bed.

His own heart was racing, and he knew Cas probably wouldn’t get back to sleep tonight. “Cas, I um… you don’t have to talk to me about what that was. But if it happens again and you need something, you’re welcome to any of the books in my collection. Y’know, so you can unwind, maybe distract yourself. Time’s hard to pass with nothing to do, especially at night.”

A heavy silence sat in the darkness, weighing him down and making him question his incessant need to speak, to try and comfort anyone and everyone he could. Just when he was about to get up and leave to walk around the house, maybe give Cas some peace of mind in his absence, soft words came from above him.

“Thank you, Dean.” It was the last thing Dean heard until morning, when Cas started shifting, cleaning up what he knocked over in his sleep before locking himself in the shower until lunch time. Dean hoped it had more to do with an upcoming moult and less to do with Cas avoiding him. That was the hope.

• •

Four more days came and went before Dean saw Cas again. He was walking back into his room right as Cas was walking out of the kitchen, fruit clutched to his chest as he offered Dean a small, slightly awkward smile and jumped back into the loft. It was the most face-to-face contact they’d had since the trip from the auction and Dean was glad to have anything. Plus this way he knew Cas was at least eating. That implied some small measure of trust, he thought.

When he looked through his bookshelves he saw a number of Enochian editions of Vonnegut missing. He let it keep him in a good mood while he made his own lunch and read emails.

A number of feathers were scattered across the floor, still damp from the shower Cas had likely taken before coming down for food. It wasn’t uncommon for angels to spend a lot of time bathing and grooming during a moult. Their skin was dry and itchy and they usually lost almost all of their top feathers over the course of a couple weeks. In Cas’ case it looked like the whole process was happening a lot faster than usual. Hopefully Cas wouldn’t try to scrub through his own skin.

Dean threw the feathers out and heard Cas take three more showers before he went to bed that night.

• •

A day after the run-in with the fruit Dean saw his roommate again during breakfast. Dean had gotten into the habit of making extra food, knowing (hoping) that Cas would come down and get some once he was gone. Whenever he came back for lunch the dishes were always in the sink, no leftovers in sight. It was a nice system, but Dean had been wondering if Cas would ever get the food while he was still around. He had no illusions about some sort of sit-down meal; he just wanted to see how Cas looked.

He hadn’t expected it to be so soon, in all honesty. Cas jumped down from the upper level and took short, sure steps onto the hardwood. Dean had made pancakes with a few strips of bacon and some scrambled eggs. Being that Cas had yet to leave any food behind Dean didn’t know if there were any specific preferences he could cater to. Beyond not knowing, Dean didn’t really care to think about the issue. About how long it had probably been since Cas was fed anything substantial or decent beyond an extra helping of slave-grade emergency rations. Besides making him angry, it always made him lose his appetite to think about how some people could be so monstrous to another living being.

Cas grabbed the spare plate across from Dean and put a healthy portion of bacon and eggs on it along with two pancakes. His skin was dry and peeling, lips chapped to the point of splitting. On the bright side, his bald patches looked fantastic compared to when Dean had first seen them and it was clear that none of them would be permanent.

As Cas headed back out of the room, Dean smiled to him politely. “Morning.”

Cas stopped and looked out the window above the kitchen sink. “Yes, it is.”

He sounded a little confused by the greeting more than anything, and Dean couldn’t help a small chuckle. “I was actually trying to say hi, Cas.”

A measure of understanding relaxed the curious squint of Cas’ eyes, his shoulders coming away from their slight hunch. “Ah, I see. Hello. I’m going to go now.”

Dean smiled again and nodded, glad for even that small interaction.

• •

Cas came down for his food for eight days straight, exchanging small smiles and greetings. Dean even got an opinion of _Cat’s Cradle_ and a question about music. All in all, mornings were going well. It seemed that he was still the only person Cas really had any contact with, but he wasn’t about to rush the guy into socializing with the dozen other people living there. They had time to build him up to that.

On the ninth morning Dean was ready for their usual semi-conversation when Cas hopped down and came into the kitchen. Instead, Cas took a seat opposite Dean at the island and spent a good two minutes breathing deeply while staring at the sausage links. Dean was almost terrified to move, whether it was to keep eating or offer Cas some orange juice.

Blue eyes met his, openly nervous but not panicked. “I suppose I owe you a bit of conversation.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Cas.” Dean took a moment to breathe and gather himself, setting his fork down gently. “But if you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

“I apologize if I’m not the best conversationalist; it’s been some time.” Cas looked back down at the food, putting both of his hands on the island as if to steady himself. “Are you curious about why I sold myself?”

Dean swallowed roughly and pushed his plate to the side, suddenly losing the rest of his appetite. “You really don’t have to do this, Cas–”

“Are you curious?” It was clear that Cas had his mind made up.

“Yeah.” Dean had read Cas’ file forward and backward, adding new entries whenever he showed up in the system again. The amount of suffering he endured would have broken most people ten times over, but Cas never stopped fighting. He chose to live.

“My younger brother and I grew up in an angelic orphanage. I remember our father dropping us off and never coming back. Inias was barely more than an infant and I was the only family he had. My job was to protect him, to keep him safe and fed.” Cas’ nails dug into the wood under his hands, and it was then that Dean noticed all the hangnails. “I was six. I hadn’t even learned to fly yet.”

Tears welled up in Cas’ eyes, and Dean wondered why Cas would choose to tell him this despite how much it still obviously hurt. He sat quietly and waited for Cas to keep going. “Orphanages will take care of small children for no cost, but by age ten they started making us work. We were a strain on resources, funds. Angelic children eat more than humans ones, and the government just wasn’t willing to pay to keep us from starving.”

Dean remembered Sam fighting to get a bill passed to increase funding to public organizations that housed and cared for angels. They were still working on it, last he heard.

“I worked around the facility, doing simple repairs and watching the younger children. The first time I saw a slave trader, I was eleven.” Cas wiped his eyes and stared idly at the wood grain. “He took a seventeen-year-old. I don’t remember her name, but I know she had younger siblings. That was where I got the idea. I was sixteen when I agreed to sell myself into slavery so my brother could remain housed.”

Cas looked back up at him, a subtle trembling vibrating through his wings and lower lip. “I didn’t tell him I was leaving. Does that make me a bad brother?”

Dean blinked away his own tears and shook his head, meeting Cas’ gaze again as he spoke. “No, it doesn’t.”

All he could think was that if he were put in the same situation, he would probably sacrifice himself in any way necessary for Sammy. Maybe that thought should have terrified him, but it was Sammy. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his little brother.

Cas pulled his arms away from the island tucked them in close to his sides. “I’m sorry I ruined breakfast.”

“You didn’t.” Dean kept his voice steady and his back straight. “Thanks for telling me.”

Nothing more was said as Cas went back to the loft. For the first time in three weeks, Dean had leftovers to put away.

─────────────────

Something changed after Castiel told Dean why he became a slave. He just wasn’t sure if it was with Dean or himself. Dean never brought it up again, still made breakfast and gave him a place to sit every morning. He accepted the unspoken invitation a handful of times after their initial conversation, and the sweet bursts of happiness that flooded his vision were almost blinding. Every emotion he could sense from Dean was so intense he was surprised the man could stand it. How did feeling that much not kill him?

Thankfully the conversations they did have when he stayed were more docile. Dean would tell him about a movie or share some amusing anecdote about household activities, putting particular focus on the other angels. Eventually he would meet these people, he knew, but for now he was content to get to know them through Dean’s eyes.

• •

The nights were hard to pass. They were quiet and still. Dean was asleep, so Castiel wasn’t able to turn to him for conversation. Often he would sit in his loft and look out the window beside his bed. The Winchester estate sat well beyond the city and at night Castiel could see the stars. His moult was nearly finished and just seeing the open sky made his wings twitch. At some point he’d have to learn to fly.

Dean had told him more about the aviary during breakfast a few mornings ago. Acres of land filled with trees and even a pond, all for the angels. Something sweet filled his senses as Dean spoke about it, a genuine fondness and pride. Castiel still didn’t understand why any human would go so far out of their way for a bunch of slaves. When he’d said as much the happiness dimmed, Dean’s voice littered with duller tones of sorrow.

“Me and Sammy just wanted to give you guys something that was yours. Everything’s been taken from you and we knew that without giving something back we weren’t any better than anyone else owning slaves. That’s not who we are.” Dean’s grip on his fork made his knuckles white and the muted sadness was turning to anger.

The depth of Dean’s emotions on issues regarding angels astounded Castiel. There was no doubt that Dean was genuine, that he wanted to help. Still… Castiel found himself reticent to offer actual trust. Even as good as Dean was, he needed more. It was selfish and wrong, he knew that, but if anyone was going to allow him a moment of selfish need, it would be Dean.

Castiel looked at the clock above the doorway downstairs and sighed. Nearly one in the morning and sleep just wasn’t coming. He stood and took a moment to watch Dean as he slept, making sure he was truly asleep. Old habits, as they said. Dean hugged his pillow and nuzzled it, his face at peace and body completely relaxed. Something constricted in Castiel’s chest at the sight that he wasn’t in any way ready to confront.

He hopped out of the loft and stepped a bit closer to Dean’s bed, looking out the lower level window. From here Castiel could see where the aviary connected to the eastern wing of the estate. If he went down there he could watch the sun rise from inside one of the trees. Maybe another time. Tonight he had another adventure in mind.

It was his first time stepping out back into this hall since he’d arrived over three weeks ago. There were many details he’d missed on his first walk through. He was again struck by just how wide the architecture of this place was. The claustrophobia that so easily hunted him wasn’t able to reach him here. He relaxed his wings, the span of them reaching out another foot at the least, and even then they didn’t touch the walls.

To his left was the door to another room, plain wood with a red stain and a simple handle. He walked past it and noticed what appeared to be a small lounge area on his right, directly across from the stairs he’d come up when he first arrived. A dark coffee table sat between four low-backed reading chairs and a short couch that faced away from the back wall. The seating was all in the same style of dark wood and red fabric. It felt warm.

There was a book sitting open on the table, the corner of one page bent to keep someone’s place. He picked it up and looked at the strange, human characters. The only word he knew in written English was in own name. In Enochian it was heavy, strong. English made it look delicate, lilting. He hated the appearance of the letters. That was not his name.

Castiel looked at the cover of the book and frowned. A large, faded billboard with glasses sat menacingly over an entire city. He set the book down as it was and continued on down the hall. Just beyond the lounge was an open archway. There had been one downstairs that he’d glanced into briefly, but he couldn’t remember what was inside. When he stepped into the room lights along the floor and high ceiling came on, illuminating the huge room in a pale glow. Bookshelves extended from the floor all the way to the ceiling. He walked through the stacks on the floor and touched every book he could. Most of them had Enochian along their spines, and each label on the shelves had both human and angelic lettering.

Once he was across the room he turned around, a large north-facing window at his back. His wings cast deep shadows across the reading tables and chairs that made them look three times their actual size. He extended all four as far as he could, the full sixteen feet of them reaching out. His muscles were too weak for him to maintain it for long, but he enjoyed it while he could.

From where he stood, he could see the upper level almost entirely. The floor wasn’t complete, more like wide balconies placed in front of select shelves with huge gaps of at least ten feet between them. No human could jump that distance, and trying would result in injury. Castiel held his breath for a moment and released it slowly, head tilting as he took in all the fine details.

He walked to the nearest platform and jumped. If he wanted he could easily pull himself up with the wood railing around the edge. Something like a smile began to pull at his lips. The construction of this library was brilliant. Castiel walked back over to the window and counted the platforms, finding eight in total. The entire estate had clearly been designed to accommodate angels and make them feel comfortable, but this library took it a step further still. The library was built just for the angels that lived there.

The knowledge pushed against his chest heavily, making it hard to breathe. A house of knowledge built for a species most humans considered inferior. Castiel’s eyes burned and he wiped at the tears that welled in them, refusing to shed them even in his shock. He took quick steps out of the library, nearly running by the time he was back in the hall. All of the emotions this place gave him, that _Dean_ gave him, were so thick and overwhelming he felt like he was going to vomit.

He leaned against the wall across from the library’s entryway and took deep breaths to calm his heart rate and quell the ill feeling the shock was giving him. Obviously, that was the  reason it affected him so strongly—because he hadn’t expected it. What he really needed was fresh air.

Castiel quietly made his way downstairs, finding it just as empty as the floor above. When he passed the room below the library, he looked in and saw children’s toys scattered all across the floor. The rugs had letters and numbers in both of the house’s languages, and many of the dolls had wings. He didn’t linger, instead turning right and walking away toward the double doors that marked the East Wing.

Another open archway at his left caught his attention, this one with long tables set up like a lunch room. Memories of the communal dining area in the orphanage flashed across his mind and he quickly shoved them away. To his right was a kitchen much like the one below his loft. An alarm sat near one of the cupboards, nestled beside sliding glass doors that led to the back lawn.

He continued to the doors that separated the foyer from the East Wing and opened them both with a gentle push. The corridor beyond had the same floor and ceiling lights as the library that came on as he walked by. Rather than the warm colors of the second floor, the downstairs was painted in softer hues of bluish grays with white accents. It reminded him of the sky again and had him quickening his pace toward the doors leading into the aviary.

There were no rooms along this hallway; it was just a straight shot to the doors outside. They were plain, white paint with a silver plaque that read _Garden_ in Enochian and English. Castiel grabbed the handles on the door and pulled, pleased that they weren’t locked. They opened easily and let in a cool breeze that carried enough scent to have him staggering backward. He coughed and covered his nose, trying to block out as much as he could.

Flowers and other plants were the first thing he could distinguish, and their sweetness made him gag. He reached forward and closed the doors, shaking his head against the onslaught of sensory information. Exploring the aviary would have to wait. Castiel backed farther into the hallway, where the air wasn’t so thick with the scent of foliage, and took a deep breath to clear his sinuses. When he returned to his room, he would start opening his window to get himself accustomed with the smells of the world outside. It hadn’t bothered him when he and Dean first arrived, but he’d been so dirty and the smells of the trailer were strong all around him. His loft and Dean’s room below were clean, and he’d grown used to the subtler scents there. With a final sigh, he turned around and headed back toward the foyer.

Castiel’s thoughts were so focused on the aviary as he ventured back upstairs that he didn’t register the sounds of Dean moving in their shared living quarters. It wasn’t until he was standing in the room and saw lights on in the kitchen that he realized Dean was up. He froze in place, unsure if Dean would reprimand him for leaving the room without saying something or for leaving the room at all. He hadn’t seen any other angels. Maybe angels weren’t supposed to wander around the estate at night.

Dean stuck his head out of the kitchen and smiled. “Can’t sleep?”

Castiel swallowed roughly and shook his head.

“Yeah I got about four hours and couldn’t go back down.” Dean’s voice was smooth and calm, easing Castiel out of his panic.

His wings loosened and he took a breath before responding. “I went to the library, and I was going to go to the aviary, but the smells were too overwhelming.”

Dean nodded and gave a half-smile. “Yeah. We can start opening the windows if you want, get you used to it in smaller doses, maybe.”

“I’d had the same thought.” Castiel glanced toward the kitchen, leaning to see in through the nearest archway.

Dean turned and motioned for Castiel to follow. “You hungry? I was making burgers.”

Castiel sat at his usual spot and watched Dean open the window above the sink. “At two in the morning?”

Dean shrugged. “Any time is burger time if you’re the cook, Cas.”

He turned and smiled at Castiel over his shoulder, causing the same tightening feeling from before. Castiel once again ignored it and nodded thoughtfully at the remark.


	6. Voices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING** : Cas has some serious anxiety near the end of this chapter
> 
> also this one really hurts, so sorry about that.

A week later and Castiel’s sleep schedule wasn’t any better. He entertained himself with trips into the library and a few more late night meals with Dean, but it didn’t help the fact that he wasn’t sleeping. Just before dawn was the most restless time for him. The sky would get light enough that he could start picking out details in the aviary trees again. Having his window open had helped him get used to the hundreds of scents outdoors, but it also made the itch in his skin and wings worse.

Rather than fidget for the next half hour, Castiel got out of bed and exited the loft. Every time he left, he paused to look at Dean. He didn’t really know why, but something about seeing Dean calm and safe in bed helped soothe him. It was probably just his own senses picking up on Dean’s natural calm. Probably.

The rest of the house outside of his and Dean’s room still felt a bit like foreign territory, but each of these night trips helped him build confidence in his surroundings. Usually he made them well before the sun was coming over the horizon.

As he walked down the stairs toward the first floor, he could hear the sounds of another person rummaging through the kitchen. He stopped on the landing between the two flights and listened more intently. Whoever it was, they were smaller than he was. He sniffed at the air and picked up the faint scent of another angel… a female. His curiosity got the better of him and he walked down onto the ground floor, peering around the corner at a pair of rusty red wings with brilliant gold and copper banding. Familiarity and relief filled his system. He knew those wings.

“Anna?” At the sound of his voice, the redhead turned and looked at him with a wide, excited smile. He walked away from the stairs and joined her in the kitchen. “I didn’t know you were here.”

She nodded and offered him oatmeal with honey, which he took graciously. “I’ve lived here for about four years, I think. I’ve lost track.”

Castiel nodded and ate slowly, watching Anna make herself a bowl. “I thought Ruby meant to keep you.”

Anna leaned against the counter while her own oats cooked. “She was killed by an assassin from another province, and I was put back on the market.”

Castiel stirred his food idly, lost for what to say. Ruby wasn’t anywhere near the worst person to own him, but she still had the arrogance to think she was better than he was. He wasn’t all that surprised that Ruby had gotten herself killed; she had a habit of pissing off the wrong people. He took another bite of his oatmeal and thought back to the numerous late nights that he and Anna had spent tucked away in Ruby’s pantry, snacking on cereal and anything else they knew they weren’t likely to be beat for. Anna was one of the only friends he’d made for himself, but he couldn’t stay in that house. Even for a friend.

“Anyway, Dean saw me at an auction, and Sam bought me a few weeks later. I’ve been here since.” She drizzled honey onto her oats and followed it with a handful of fresh berries.

Castiel finished his own bowl and wondered how commonplace it was for Sam and Dean to just show up at an auction and whisk wayward angels away to a life of comfort.

Anna cleared her throat and gestured to his wings with her spoon. “Your moult looks like it’s going well. I was worried you’d have some permanent bald spots.”

Castiel shook his wings and looked at the healthy, pink skin visible beneath his feathers. Soft down was even coming back in some spots for the first time in a few years. While he felt hotter than usual, he welcomed the sign of his improving health.

He looked back at Anna and saw the faded scars lining her forearms. When he knew her before they were far more obvious, bright strips of red like whip lashes all across her pale skin. “Your arms look better.”

She blushed lightly, the tops of her wings tilting forward in embarrassment. “Sam gave me some lotions that have helped. Some days I look down and it’s almost like Ruby never happened.”

Castiel set his bowl down in the sink behind Anna and looked out at the back lawn. “I’m not sure what to make of this place.”

Anna hummed thoughtfully and stood beside him, rubbing her right wing against his two left in a gesture of comfort. “It’ll take some time, but if I know you, I know you’ll figure it out.”

Doors began opening upstairs, so Castiel quickly said his goodbyes and raced back up to the second floor. A teenager with dark skin and four black and bronze wings froze beside the library entrance when Castiel jumped up the stairs. They held each other’s eyes for moment before the younger boy smiled casually and straightened his back with easy confidence.

“I’m Uriel.” He held his wings proudly in the sort of way that would get them broken anywhere else.

Castiel briefly looked down to the end of the hall. He could hear Dean walking even from here. He met the teen’s eyes again and relaxed. “My name is Castiel.”

Uriel nodded thoughtfully and took a step toward him. “Your name means _shield of the mountains_ in old Enochian.”

Castiel smiled and indicated the younger angel with a nod of his head. “ _The mountains are my light_ _._ ”

A stern, female voice called after Uriel from inside the library, and he glared back at it for a moment before waving goodbye and darting inside. Castiel walked back to the room slowly, listening the whole way to a history lesson being given in Enochian. He could remember the story being told, about how his people were made from the fire of a volcano and the wind of the sky. The smell of food finally drew him back into his and Dean’s room, the other man whistling as he fried some bacon.

Castiel took his usual seat, and Dean turned to smile at him. “Morning, Cas.”

“Good morning, Dean.” He sat at the island and patiently waited for more food, trying to draw his thoughts away from the school lesson down the hall.

Of course he remembered Dean telling him that the children they housed got an education, but he’d thought Dean meant a human education. As he and Dean ate, all he could think about was the fact that someone in this house had to draw up that Enochian lesson plan. Someone bought books. It likely added up to months of planning. Even the orphanages didn’t spare that much thought for them.

Castiel cleared his plate in silence, too wrapped up in himself to pay much attention to the way Dean’s concern and worry filled the air around them. He went back into his loft and studied the outline of the aviary’s cage more intently. It only now occurred to him that building such a thing would take millions of dollars.

• •

Pre-dawn trips to the kitchen quickly became a habit for Castiel when he couldn’t sleep. Anna was always there, offering friendship and comfort like she did when Ruby had first bought him and his world was turned upside down for the hundredth time. He’d even dash upstairs and talk to Uriel for a few minutes before the first school lesson of the day.

As it turned out, Uriel was barely seventeen and had been sold into the trade at fourteen to pay off the gambling debts of the humans that had been contracted to care for him. There was a paper trail wider than Castiel’s wingspan, and in the end none of it really mattered. Uriel had been a labor slave in quarries and on construction sites before Sam found him while looking for another rescue. The moment Castiel mentioned the aviary Uriel’s face lit up, and he asked if Castiel was planning on making a trip. He was called into the library before they could really speak about it, but Castiel felt even more eager to finish his moult and get into flying shape.

During another quiet breakfast, something in Dean seemed to snap. He set his fork down slowly and didn’t look anywhere near Castiel. “If you don’t want to talk you don’t have to. You’ve just been really quiet, and I wanna make sure I didn’t do anything.”

Castiel chewed a piece of French toast and squinted at Dean. He was still eating at the island, showing up every morning when Dean cooked. It was odd that Dean would think something was wrong because of a lack of conversation.

He swallowed his bite of food and took a long drink of apple juice before responding. “My apologies, I’ve just been preoccupied.”

Dean’s scent was twisted with confusion and worry. “You mind if I ask what with?”

Castiel looked out the window for a moment, then back at Dean. “When I come back upstairs I can hear the school lessons. When you said the children got an education I thought…”

“You thought I meant they learned in English.”  Relief soothed the sharper notes of Dean’s smell. “I’ll be honest, me and Sammy really don’t have much to do with what gets taught in the library. Naomi just hands us a list of the things she needs and we make sure she has it.”

The bite of food Castiel was chewing got stuck in his throat as it constricted, and he barely choked it down before speaking. “Naomi?”

He hadn’t focused on the voice when he listened to the words. Flashbacks to copper wings flecked with white and harnessed with thick metal to a Scottish merchant made the sounds of the kitchen distorted. Above it he could smell the twisted worry turning to blinding panic from Dean, flashes of vibrant yellows and reds surrounding his peripheral vision like flames. He was deaf to everything except Dean’s voice calling for him and pulling him back from the echoes of vicious hounds snarling and barking. _Sick ‘em, boy!_

“Cas!” A gentle, warm hand gripped his forearm with almost no force at all, just enough to guide it away from ripping at the newly grown feathers in his own wings.

Every breath came too-short through his closing throat. Bright green burst in through the reds and yellows and pulled him back to the kitchen. The memories clouding his senses fell away, and all he could focus on was the way Dean’s own breath and voice shook. Castiel’s top wings were curved outward, caging Dean in and keeping him close.

“Cas, hey, c’mon, come back.” Dean’s face was pale, his fingers shaking where they held on desperately, and Castiel only had a brief second to wonder at the strength of the action before Dean’s eyes caught his again, and they began to breathe together like they had back in the trailer.

His vision began to blur, and his eyes burned with the tears spilling down his face. Dean was speaking, but the sounds were too dull for him to pick them out as anything other than warm, dark tones that drew enough of his attention to keep him from falling prey to sensory overload.

Castiel pulled in a deep breath so thick with oxygen it made his head swim. He pulled away from Dean’s grasp, surprised when he was easily let go. An unfamiliar, sour smell filled the confined air between his wings, and he sneezed against it. Dean tried backing out of his personal space, but couldn’t move beyond the feathers reigning him in. There was no struggle, no fight, just a moment of hesitation on Castiel’s end as he finally regained control of his wings. The bottom two were pulled as tight to his body as they could be, trembling.

When he opened his wings Dean backed away, still looking at him with a helplessness Castiel had yet to see. As they parted and air rushed in the sour smell dissipated and Castiel realized it wasn’t his own scent clogging the air. It was Dean’s fear. Fear for _him_.

“Cas?” The calm control that normally ruled Dean in even the most uncertain moments was gone, and Castiel almost expected something to be different when he made eye contact again, but the bare honesty he always found was still there.

He backed out of the kitchen, hitting his wings on the archway as he went. “I need to shower.”

Dean’s entire body twitched as he made to follow, but caught himself at the last minute. He said nothing as Castiel threw himself into the loft and then into his own bathroom. The door wasn’t even closed when he collapsed by the toilet and threw up everything he’d eaten that morning.

All he could think was that he should’ve known her voice.

• •

Castiel tried not to sleep. Nightmares he hadn’t had in years tore him apart when he was least able to defend himself. Dean climbed into the loft and helped him move his bedside tables the morning after the worst, when one of his wings slammed into the oak hard enough to break the skin under his feathers. Neither of them commented, though Castiel knew Dean likely wanted to offer medicine or a bandage of some sort. The air around them felt fragile. A sickly undercurrent of dread or fear was almost always present in Dean’s scent, and Castiel quickly found himself missing the more musky tones of relaxation or the sweet happiness he’d been able to smell before.

He didn’t have the energy to go downstairs and talk to Anna, so Dean was the only other person he actually had contact with. While he was grateful not to be alone, Dean’s anxieties exhausted him, and eventually he would have no choice but to lay down and sleep.

When he was actually awake at night, he would sometimes quietly exit the loft and sit on Dean’s level just at the foot of his bed to watch him sleep. The tightness in his own chest here wasn’t unpleasant, wasn’t panicked. It seemed the weight of their daily stress was kind enough to leave Dean be when he slept. In these hours Castiel could examine Dean’s scent further, finding himself fascinated still with the small part that he couldn’t name.

Maybe he was just smelling the fresh air on Dean’s skin, the lack of artificial perfumes in his soaps, or the lack of pure hatred for Castiel’s own species.


	7. Crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter is really, really heavy. mentions of murder, attacks by dogs, mass murder of protestors, self-harm (involuntary), and blackouts induced by anxiety and rage
> 
> so yeah.

Castiel had little experience with guilt. When he sold himself he knew he was abandoning his little brother, but that was to keep Inias fed and housed. The sacrifice was more than worth it, and he hadn’t really had a chance to think about it beyond that. Bouncing from owner to owner provided little time for introspection because if he wasn’t fighting, then he was unconscious.

But now, with Dean, with freedom and comfort and _quiet_ , Castiel had a chance to sit and think of these things. To think about how his actions could have affected more than just himself.

Crowley was the worst, most vindictive slave runner Castiel had ever known. He was rich, powerful, and so well connected that Castiel didn’t even know he’d been sold when Crowley came to get him. That was when he’d met Naomi. She was hard, determined in a way that reminded Castiel of himself. His time with Crowley was short, barely more than half a year, but in that time Castiel and Naomi grew to know each other. They traded life stories and advice.

He trusted her enough to tell her about Inias, and in return she told him about Hael. Naomi sold herself in the hopes of working her way through the system and finding her daughter. Castiel knew that for her, Crowley was just a road stop; she would find a way to get herself sold and move on in her search until she found closure of some kind. He admired her dedication and strength.

But Crowley wasn’t just a stop along a path for him. No, Crowley was another battlefield in a war over his personhood and dignity that had been taking place for nearly a decade at that time. Castiel had been kept as a labor slave and even as a slave for shows because of his wings, but he’d never been kept as a sex slave before then. Crowley was the first.

When Crowley walked into his cell and called him ‘Angel,’ he knew he had to start fighting hard and early. None of it mattered to Crowley, who held himself with a cold air of superiority that no one else could ever match. He even smiled when the slave traders warned him of Castiel’s difficult, defiant nature. It was like even then he’d had the plan written down on some long scroll of paper, all T’s crossed and I’s dotted.

The night Castiel woke up from a drug-induced slumber with unmistakable pains that was the moment he decided he was going to kill Crowley MacLeod. It wasn’t difficult to get the rest of the slaves on the property to agree. Bartholomew seemed most eager, most needing and wanting of payback. Maybe that was why Crowley had him killed first, torn apart by the hounds in the middle of the banquet hall.

Castiel nearly broke a wing keeping himself alive that night, and even then Crowley had only called the dogs off because they were getting tired. He never knew that Naomi was the one who betrayed him until the day Crowley resold him.

For years whenever he thought about her all he felt was anger, even hatred. Crowley violated him in a way that no one had before or since, and part of him even went so far as to blame her for that, too. To forget that she was just as much a slave as he was. That Crowley wasn’t just living torture for him.

As far as he could tell, Dean knew nothing about his time with Crowley, or why hearing that Naomi was teaching children just down the hall had set him off. Castiel didn’t know how to begin to tell that story to anyone else, if he even wanted to. Talking about it would mean he would have to deal with it.

Two weeks after his flashback in the kitchen, and he was only just falling asleep without hearing the barking of large dogs.

• •

Dean was away when Anna came to visit after three weeks of not seeing him. Her presence was calming to an extent, but she was worried about him just as Dean was. Castiel was so tired of smelling the thick, sticky worry that clung to everything. It was like something was rotting in the kitchen sink, and Dean wasn’t cleaning it out.

But, with one of his oldest and only friends holding herself back from doing so much as touching the back of his hand, Castiel realized that maybe Dean wasn’t the one who needed to clean away the stench of the dead.

The look of disbelief on Anna’s face as he told her about Crowley was nothing compared the smell of her horror. “How could anyone let him do that?”

Castiel ground his jaw. “Who would care enough to stop him?”

“You did.”

“And if I’d succeeded, the government would have had every angel in that house executed.” The moment he spoke the words aloud, the old, lingering hatred he always harbored for Naomi broke apart.

She would have been killed just like Bartholomew. Just like every other angel under one of Crowley’s contracts. A mother enduring endless abuse in search of her daughter would have been murdered because of him. At least one other angel was, in fact, _murdered_ because of him.

Anna finally laid her hand on his arm and squeezed reassuringly. “But you’re still alive, and you’re here now.”

Castiel covered her hand with his own and nodded. He needed to speak with Naomi.

• •

Deciding that he needed to confront Naomi and have a conversation was far easier than building the courage to walk the short distance of the hallway after the morning classes were done. It took another week of Anna visiting him in his loft. Over the course of their talks, he also found out that each angel had their own room scattered throughout the estate. Anna even had a small art studio tucked into the area where he and Dean had a kitchen.

According to Anna, Naomi typically stayed in the library to read for at least an hour after she was done teaching. Since Dean had been giving Castiel more space of late, he would have more than enough time to walk down there and talk to her. Part of him wished that Dean would decide to come back early with more vanilla ice cream.

Despite the generous width of the hallway, Castiel still felt pressed in upon and confined. The distance to the library wasn’t long enough for his liking, he didn’t really want to have this conversation, but he was tired of the nightmares. He was tired of the guilt he felt because of Dean’s pain for him. He was tired of not knowing if their suffering and Bartholomew’s death even resulted in anything. Inias’ current whereabouts were still a mystery to him, and he’d only just begun to admit to himself how deeply that bothered him. Naomi deserved to know where her daughter was.

Just as Anna had said, Naomi was sitting in a chair facing the window and the sunlight. Her legs were tucked under her body and her wings drooped with relaxation. Castiel could tell when his scent became apparent to her by the way her wings tensed, the feathers bristling. She closed her book without a word and looked back at him over her shoulder, lips pressed into a firm line.

She set her book down and stood to face him. The clothing she wore was well-tailored, definitely expensive. Probably even more than one of Dean’s suits. The outfit was simple, a pale yellow blouse neatly tucked into dark grey slacks, but it still made Naomi seem large and powerful.

In the silence of the library everything was loud, but especially the resigned sigh Naomi gave after a tense moment. “I’d hoped Uriel had meant some other Castiel. But we could never be that lucky, could we?”

Castiel shook his head, but said nothing. Angels weren’t really in the habit of reusing names anyway, so the point was moot.

She looked him straight in the eye, her gaze hard and determined. “Well, whatever you’re here for, get on with it.”

Castiel took a step back and squinted at her, his own wings pulling closer to his back. “Get on with what?”

Naomi stood straighter, shoulders and wings squared. “Revenge for betraying you to Crowley. We’re not a forgetful people, Castiel.”

She was right, of course, and maybe a year ago he would’ve taken her up on the offer, but he was too tired to be so angry at his own kind anymore. He shook his head and took another step back. “That isn’t why I came here, Naomi. I only want to talk.”

The hard line of Naomi’s lips turned to a frown, and the lines around her eyes deepened in her uncertainty. She tipped her head back slightly and scented the air, eyes still on Castiel the whole time. He didn’t move or even speak,  just stood still and let her work through whatever thoughts she was having. If he were in her position, he wouldn’t trust himself either.

After another moment the air was less tense around them, Naomi’s feathers laying flat again. Tears began to fill her eyes, but she looked off at one of the other bookshelves and blinked them away as quickly as they’d appeared.

When she looked back to him, he could see some of the Naomi he knew years ago. The woman who withstood that endless cruelty in the name of a mission she never should have had to take. But this Naomi was more broken than that one, more lost.

“I never wanted to betray you, Castiel. I never wanted Bartholomew to be murdered. I wish I could’ve let you kill Crowley.” She ground her jaw and closed her eyes against more tears. Her lips trembled as she continued speaking. “They would have killed all of us if you’d succeeded.”

She opened her eyes again and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, breath shuddering as she tried to calm herself. Castiel nodded and clenched his hands into fists to keep from pulling at his own feathers.

“And you needed to find Hael. I understand, Naomi, and I don’t blame you anymore.”

Naomi was silent for a moment, holding back a sob that made her wings shake at her back. She shook her head and looked back at him. Castiel could smell the weight of her sorrow, the salt in her tears. “Don’t give me your forgiveness Castiel.”

His own eyes burned, and he knew his jaw would ache from grinding his teeth like he was. “It’s the only thing I have to give.”

“I don’t have anything to give back.” She blinked slowly, no longer fighting her own need to cry.

Castiel took another small step backward, desperately wanting to leave but unable while he still had yet to ask what was probably the most important question. “What happened to Hael?”

The sorrow Castiel had smelled on her before turned into something deeper, something a bit darker. It was grief mixed with the sort of rage Castiel didn’t think he’d ever smelled from someone other than himself. Naomi met his eyes, lips trembling for a different reason. Even her tears smelled different.

“Hael was part of the demonstration at the old capitol building on the East coast. She was killed along with almost two thousand other protesters.” Naomi pulled her wings tighter to her body, almost hugging herself with them. “Like I said, Castiel. I wish I had let you kill Crowley.”

Castiel stumbled as he backed away, hitting a bookshelf as he tried to get out. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

It wasn’t what he meant to say, but it was the only thing he could think of. Naomi nodded and smiled bitterly. “So am I.”

Castiel turned and darted through the stacks, only stopping when Naomi’s voice called out to him. “I checked the names of those arrested or killed. Inias was not one of them, Castiel.”

The air was too thin, his wings too heavy and hot. He felt himself moving, but everything was too fast around him, he didn’t know where he was until he was back in the loft. There were feathers around his feet, blood on their quills and his hands. He looked at his wings and saw small patches of skin where he’d ripped the new growth out. The room blurred around him. Loud crashes echoed through his hearing, distorted in a way that his worst nightmares were. The unreality was what haunted him most.

A new scent filled the room, bringing him back to the light coming from the window. He was confused to find the glass cracked in one pane. As his hearing cleared, Dean’s voice came through overly loud and panicked. The familiar, sour fear smelled so much worse now. There was a hand on his shoulder, another on one of his forearms, fighting back to keep him from reaching for a wing. He turned away from the window and met Dean’s eyes, then looked down to where Dean was grabbing him.

When he relaxed, Dean let go, but still touched his shoulder. Castiel said the first thing that came to his mind. “Why aren’t we people to you?”

Dean squinted, mouth falling open. “What?”

Castiel shoved Dean back hard enough that he fell, landing across the broken pieces of what used to be a coffee table. “Why aren’t my kin people to you?”

Dean stood quickly, but didn’t move forward. “Cas, you are people.”

Anger filled Castiel’s chest, sharpening his senses further, making the beating of Dean’s heart thunderous. “To you and your brother, yes, but not to them.” He turned and pointed to the cracked window. “Outside of this house, no one cares about us. We’re slaughtered when we ask for even the most basic rights. We aren’t people. Why aren’t we people?”

The sour fear that had pervaded Dean’s scent for weeks stopped, replaced by such heavy pain that Castiel’s eyes filled with tears as Dean tried not to shed his own. He took a deep breath and ground his jaw, clenching his eyes shut.

He shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Castiel rushed forward and shoved Dean back again, breathing too-deeply until his head was swimming. Dean didn’t react to the shove, just moved with the force of it and tried not to trip over the debris littering the floor.

“If I could fix it, I would, Cas.” Dean’s voice was broken, constricted through his failing effort not to cry. “But, I don’t know how.”

Castiel ran at Dean again and grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him there for a moment. There was no fight in Dean, no resistance. It was like he was content to let Castiel punish him for someone else’s crimes and cruelty. The rage burning Castiel’s stomach and chest broke, Dean’s pain too heavy for him to keep it. He collapsed against Dean’s chest.

Dean’s arms wrapped around his midsection, fitting perfectly between his top and bottom wings. Both pairs wrapped around Dean in kind as he began to sob. Castiel was exhausted, hurt, and confused. Not having to focus on the fight left him with too much time to think, and he was beginning to realize how little he understood of the world, and of other people. Dean remained quiet while Castiel clung to him, regaining some sort of control over himself enough to slow his breathing.

With his face in Dean’s shoulder as it was, Castiel couldn’t smell anything else, and chose not to hear anything outside of Dean’s heart and lungs. Relief began to wash through him, cold and comforting after his outburst.

Castiel didn’t know why Dean was the way he was, but he knew one thing was absolutely true: Dean just wanted to help.


	8. Deals

Castiel went through ten variations of the same conversation before he decided to do the simplest thing: show up for breakfast. There was something about the food that Dean cooked for him that made it easier to talk about things, even if he’d yet to really think them through. A comfort in the richness of the taste and the smells. A certain richness also found in Dean himself.

Dean smiled kindly when he walked into the kitchen. “Morning, Cas.”

As always a second plate was ready at his usual seat, waiting for him to show up. “Good morning, Dean.”

He was already doing better than in the conversations he imagined. Everything around them held the lingering scent of Dean’s worry, the sharpness of it refusing to fade.

It seemed wrong that the kitchen felt the same as always. Something should’ve been different. Castiel ignored his own discomfort and grabbed a roll. Dean was watching him closely, not eating his own food. Whenever their eyes met Dean was smiling, but Castiel could hear the quickened pace of Dean’s heart from how nervous he was. Pale yellows were clouding his peripheral vision because of it.

“Whatever you want to say, Dean, say it.” Castiel ripped his roll in half and stuffed bacon in the center.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled sharply. “I’m not exactly subtle, am I?”

Castiel shook his head and glanced at Dean. “Not exactly.”

Silence seemed louder here than anywhere else. A room normally filled with conversation and laughter shouldn’t have had to bear the weight of sorrow, and shouldn’t have carried it as well as it did. The lights weren’t dimmer, the colors on the walls weren’t dulled by the awkward lack of conversation. Something was different in Castiel, and it frustrated him that the world was not different with him.

Dean cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Look, I meant what I said when I told you this moves at your pace, Cas—”

“But you have questions.” Castiel met Dean’s eyes, unsurprised by the soft nod he received. “I’ll answer them.”

Dean nodded and sighed, his shoulders dropping. “Alright, cool.”

Another moment passed where Dean said nothing. His eyes darted across the surface of the island erratically, almost like he was tracking something other than his own thoughts. It didn’t take as long for Dean to collect himself as Castiel had expected. Less than a full minute passed before Dean seemed to reach some sort of consensus.

“What happened in your loft?”

Somehow Castiel expected the questions to be about Naomi. Maybe for Dean to have researched some time in the past two days.

“I believe I blacked out. I didn’t even know what I’d done until you arrived.” Castiel stared at his bacon sandwich, debating whether he should force himself to eat despite his lack of appetite. “I had gone to the library to speak with Naomi.”

Dean leaned forward, fingers clasped, and waited for Castiel to continue.

“She and I were once owned by the same man.” Castiel set his roll down. “He was the worst.”

Castiel closed his eyes against the sounds of dogs in his memory, wings shivering at his back.

“Hey, you don’t have to get into it, Cas. I just needed to know you were okay.” Even with his eyes closed, Castiel could feel Dean watching him.

He took in a deep breath and straightened his back, wings going still behind him. The yellow was gone from his vision, and a sweeter smell was beginning to replace the old worry and fear.

He nodded and opened his eyes again. “I am. And this is a story I want you to know.”

A small smile lifted Dean’s lips. “Lay it on me. We got time.”

Castiel exhaled slowly and relaxed further into his seat. “As I said, we were owned by the same man at one time. His name was Crowley—”

“Wait… as in MacLeod?” Dean squinted and glanced to one side, eyes widening as he looked back at Castiel. “Shit. You’re the one that tried to kill him.”

“Was that not in my file?”

“They don’t put things like that into those files, Cas. They need to be able to make a profit.” The sweet smell was gone, overtaken by something bitter and thick. A rich anger that was matched by the dark reds flooding Castiel’s sight.

He squinted at Dean. “Why would they ever risk reselling me?”

Dean scoffed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “People do really stupid shit for money.”

Castiel nodded. While he understood the sentiment, he had the feeling that there was a deeper meaning in it for Dean. He didn’t imagine that he was the sole inspiration for the anger nearly bordering on rage that he was smelling and seeing.

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes snapped to his. “Yeah, sorry, got sidetracked. You’re okay, though? Whatever you needed with Naomi, that’s done. You’re good?”

Castiel looked at his hands, remembering the way his own blood and feathers had been stuck to his fingers. He didn’t want that for himself anymore. “I am, yes.”

He looked back up at Dean and hoped he looked as confident in this decision as he felt. The past was done. There was no changing it or controlling it. However, he could control himself now. He could control how he chose to see his own potential future. That was why Dean had found him. He wasn’t going to waste that.

Dean gave a half smile and stood up. “I need to go make a couple phone calls. Eat what you want, and I’ll put it away when I get back.”

He walked out of the bedroom, gently shutting the door behind him. Castiel looked down at his roll and picked it back up. Some of his appetite was beginning to return, and even with Dean out of the room he could feel a pleasant weight in his chest where before he’d always felt hollow.

Castiel finished his breakfast and went back into his loft to indulge in a nap.

 

_Inias is getting so tall. One day he’ll be taller than Castiel. His wings are long, and he flexes them proudly. “Like yours!”_

_Castiel smiles and flutters his own wings, reaching forward to straighten a few crooked feathers on Inias’ lower pair. Castiel needs to learn to fly, that way he can teach Inias. He needs to take care of his little brother no matter what._

 

Castiel woke roughly, throat constricted and chest heavy. His wings were slow to move. When had he rolled onto his back?

He took in a deep breath and slowly shifted around until he was on his stomach. His wings were cold, but he could feel a tingle starting at the bases of them as feeling began to return. Waiting for the circulation to come back was always difficult for him. Every feather felt like it was being brushed and moved. It tickled.

“Sammy, hey there you are. I tried calling you earlier, but Becky said you were in a meeting. How’d it go?” Dean was down in the kitchen, pacing. Castiel wondered how long he’d been asleep.

Sam’s voice was muffled and distorted, but Castiel could make out some of what was being said. _“… been better… at a store… Sarah… dress… the store owner… wanted to punch… how fucking stupid. She isn’t…”_

“Sammy, Sammy, slow down. How is Sarah, anyway? You take her everywhere; I’ve barely been able to see her.” Dean stopped pacing and instead began tapping rapidly against one of the counters. There was no discernible rhythm that Castiel could make out.

 _“She’s good, she misses… —andriel… wants to meet Castiel.”_ Castiel took another deep breath and pushed himself to a sitting position, gritting his teeth and breathing through his nose to keep himself from collapsing because of the overstimulation in his wings.

“Little punk misses her, too. Look, I didn’t call just to talk. I need a favor.” Dean sighed. “All our contracts are run through Crowley. How much would it take to break them?”

Castiel tensed where he sat, tilting his head to listen more closely to Sam’s responses. _“Billions… thought… liked Crowley.”_

“He’s a good lawyer, and he’s great with business negotiations, but that isn’t enough for me to keep working with him. If we can break our contracts and take them somewhere else, I’m going to.” Dean’s voice got louder as he spoke, his tone clipped.

_“Dean… hell happened?”_

“Doesn’t matter. I’m the CEO and I want to take our business elsewhere. So how do we break our contracts with him without giving him a couple billion dollars to do it?”

The last time Castiel heard that tone from Dean it was back at the auction house, when he’d been speaking with the guards.

_“… Crowley’s best… this business for a reason… I don’t know—”_

“Sam, you’re a fucking constitutional lawyer. Are you telling me you can’t find a goddamn loophole?”

There was a moment where neither of them said anything, and then Sam sighed heavily over the line. _“I’ll look. If there’s any way … find it for you. But, Dean, who… go to if you leave Crowley?”_

“Bela.” Dean began pacing the kitchen again. “She’s as much of a bitch as Crowley, and Bobby even said she’s the best alternative.”

_“Alright… telling me what happened… get back.”_

“Yeah, yeah. Have fun glaring at the senate.” Dean hung up the phone and walked back out of the kitchen, then left the room.

Castiel sat in his bed silently, Sam’s voice ringing through his head. _Billions_.

─────────────────

When they broke their contracts, the story made the cover of five business magazines and was in every newspaper still in print. It was the only kind of revenge Dean knew how to take that would actually hurt Crowley and send him a message. If he had to bankrupt or buy every company that counted as competition to enact the changes he and his family wanted to see in the world, he would. Their dad made their small company into something bordering on an empire before he died. Dean wasn’t going to squander it on yachts.

Dean thought that maybe someone told Cas the news, because he actually asked if taking business away from Crowley hurt him.

He showed Cas one of the papers with the story and pointed to a word below a picture of Crowley surrounded by reporters. “That word, that’s devastate. You know what it means?”

Cas nodded. “It means you hurt him.”

“Yeah.”

Cas reached out and turned the page, one with a picture of Dean at some business function. He squinted at the article and pointed to a word somewhere near the middle. “What’s this word?”

Dean looked and took a deep breath. “It’s um. Compassion.”

“What does it mean in the article?” Cas kept his finger under the word like he was rooted to it.

“I told the press I broke my company’s contracts with Crowley because I didn’t like how he treated angels. This article talks about my family’s history with angel rights.”

“So compassion describes your whole family?” Cas took his hand off the paper but still stared at it intently.

“Yeah.”

“What part talks about you specifically?”

Dean took another breath and tried desperately to keep his heart rate down. He didn’t know why Cas was so interested in the story, or why he wanted to know about the opinion it had of Dean in particular, but it was making him a little light headed.

He looked down at the article and read a portion of the last paragraph. “While the Winchester family as a whole has always supported angelic activism, Dean in particular has been the most vocal about his affinity for angels. The recent split from MacLeod is not the first time the young CEO of Winchester and Singer has made business decisions rooted in personal bias. What this means for one of the world’s largest, and most successful engineering companies remains to be seen.”

Cas squinted at him. “Personal bias?”

“Like you said, Sam and I know you’re people, but that’s still a strange concept in the outside world.” Dean closed the paper with a soft sigh. “So, how about lunch?”

He put on his brightest smile, but he knew Cas could see right through it.

• •

It had been almost three months since Dean had found Cas, and he felt like he was finally beginning to see deeper into the personality that had been repressed for almost fifteen years. From what he could tell, Cas was sleeping better. If he was still having nightmares, they weren’t ones that broke furniture.

The feathers that had been torn out during his episode grew back quickly enough. It actually looked like Cas was nearing the end of his moult altogether. The wings Dean freed from chains months ago looked nothing like the ones he saw now. No bald patches, no dry or broken feathers. All four wings had healthy, sleek plumage that barely required more than one shower a week. Even then Dean thought Cas only took them because of the comfort factor. He could understand that.

While the wings were probably the most obvious, Dean could also easily see how much healthy weight Cas had gained. His ribs couldn’t be seen through his skin anymore, and the muscles in his back and chest that supported his wings were getting larger.

If he stopped and thought about it, Dean would let himself be proud for just a moment of the progress Cas was making. He hoped his mom was proud, too.

• •

Dean barely stumbled into the bathroom to begin with. It was four in the morning, and he’d only just gotten to sleep after pulling two all-nighters. He couldn’t be blamed for his lack of balance. Nor could he be blamed when he walked out and immediately ran into the back of his couch.

In one fell swoop he stubbed two toes, winged his hip, and bashed his kneecap into the wood frame. “Fuck!”

He flopped down onto the couch to nurse his wounds with pouting and aggressive rubbing.

The lights in the loft came on, followed by the soft sound of footsteps. Cas hopped down and stepped toward him. The silhouette of wings and messy hair against the faint glow of the light from above made Dean’s stomach flutter. But then again, he was sleep deprived.

“What happened?”

Dean scoffed and gently massaged his stubbed toes. “Ran into the couch on my way out of the bathroom.”

Cas looked at the bathroom doorway, then at the couch a few feet in front of it. “Is this more of the dignity you mentioned back in the trailer?”

Dean stopped for a moment and gaped. He was about to ask what Cas was talking about when he remembered waking up after the first night, half his face covered in drool, almost falling as he slipped on a shed feather. He’d muttered about being dignified.

The smile that spread over his face couldn’t be helped, nor could he help the way his chest filled with warmth and the fluttering in his stomach intensified with the need to laugh. “Are you making fun of me?”

Cas tilted his head, Dean barely able to make out a smirk as his eyes adjusted to the low light. “I’m simply making an observation. You tend to be clumsy when you first wake.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, surprised laughter shaking his chest and shoulders as he sat up. He shook his head and rubbed his knee, the pain mostly faded.

“God, who knew you’d be such a shit?” He looked back at Cas, still smiling. “I’m gonna remember that.”

Cas nodded to him. “I should hope so. I’d hate for you to break a toe on your own furniture.”

Dean laughed a little louder than necessary and leaned against the back of the couch. Cas smiled and looked down, almost like he was embarrassed. After a moment Dean stood. He’d probably have a bruise on his hip, but he was fine overall.

“Go back to bed, Cas. I have an image to maintain.” He smiled as he spoke so Cas would know he wasn’t serious.

He got a smile in return and what he thought may have been a chuckle. Cas grabbed his arm when he walked by on his way back to bed, making him stop and turn.

“You’re not really hurt?” Cas was so serious all of a sudden, and it only made Dean smile wider.

“Nah, I’m good. Nothing’s hurt but my pride, and that was mostly you.” He barely resisted the urge to reach out and touch Cas’ shoulder.

Cas let go of him slowly, fingers lingering for a moment. It was late, and they were both tired, clearly. “Somehow, I think you’ll recover.”

Dean snorted and nodded. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

Cas took a slow step backward and jumped back into the loft. Dean crawled back into his own bed with his arms thrown wide over his head, entire body relaxed. He glanced at the loft when the lights turned out. He was really starting to love having Cas with him.

Wait… _shit_.


	9. Brothers and Feathers

Castiel had entered this house thinking of it as a prison. It was huge, and there were so many people. So many of _his_ people. He knew better now, of course. The nightmares weren’t as strong as they had been, nor did they come as frequently. Up in their room, the smell of Dean’s fear was finally fading. It was replaced by a much sweeter, stronger smell. He knew what it was, but he wasn’t prepared to put a name to it.

As much as he’d come to love his and Dean’s room, the first step to actual recovery lay in taking risks. He needed to trust himself and his surroundings. Taking tours of the house during the night had allowed him to get comfortable, but he needed to confront the daylight eventually. After nearly four months, it was time.

He’d expected more people to be around during the afternoon. Anna was still down in the kitchen in the mornings, but by lunch she was elsewhere. Probably in her studio. She used it to paint some of the most beautiful artwork he’d ever seen. Dean and Sam put her under a human alias, and she even made money doing it. The market considered her mysterious. A genius that refused to make public appearances. Maybe under different circumstances Castiel could laugh at their idiocy, but this idiocy had proven deadly too many times.

But, rather than concentrate on this, Castiel was set on finding a grapefruit. Dean said they were in the downstairs kitchen.

He could hear someone coming up behind him. Definitely male from the smell, relaxed. Human, but with something strange in their scent, like Dean. The reminder of Dean put him at ease. He managed to find the cabinet with the grapefruit. They were much larger than oranges, Dean said they were—

_A hand grasps his wing and he twists away. They won’t take him, not again. One guard lunges to stab him, but he dodges and shoves the man against his cell wall by the throat. He won’t be stolen from this place. Ruby isn’t a good person, but she isn’t the worst owner he’s had._

_An alarm sounds and he smiles, knowing the house’s guards will show up soon. All he has to do is keep himself from being taken. Buying a slave already proves how low a person is, but stealing them is something else entirely. He won’t let that be him._

“Cas!” The sharp bark of Dean’s voice tore him from his flashback.

He flinched away, looking around the room. There were more than a dozen people standing around, many of them other angels. Dean guided him until he stood with his back to them all, wings blocking his peripheral vision.

“Dean?” He hated how confused he sounded.

“Cas, hey, you okay?” Someone behind them was coughing.

Castiel glanced back at the noise, cold dread turning his stomach. Sam. Sam Winchester. Dean’s younger brother. He’d strangled Dean’s brother.

His voice shook. “No.”

Dean pulled on his upper arms again. “Hey, Cas, look at me.”

He looked at Dean, horrified at himself. “What did I do?”

“Cas, just breathe, alright? Are you okay?” Dean was holding him tightly, but it didn’t feel as constricting as Castiel thought it ought to. He nodded and tried to look elsewhere, but Dean squeezed his arms. “Why don’t you go upstairs, okay? We can talk about this a little later?”

Castiel nodded and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe until he felt steady on his own feet again. The eyes of the other people didn’t weigh as much on his skin as they should have. They moved out of his way when he made for the stairs. Naomi was standing just outside the library as he came up the stairs, clearly panicked at the sound of the alarm going off. She wouldn’t meet his eyes when he ran by.

As he flung himself into the loft, Castiel wondered why Dean hadn’t smelled or looked angry.

• •

Avoidance was proving to be his most practiced skill of late. He barely left the loft for two days, and when he did, it was only when Dean was asleep or gone. There was always food left out for him. Dean was so accommodating of his need for space.

The third morning was spent mostly pacing. He knew he’d have to go down and talk to Dean about what happened, but how was he supposed to apologize for choking Dean’s brother?

Around lunchtime his stomach started growling, and he considered going down and sitting with Dean for a meal. The decision was made for him when Dean tossed freshly made food up into the loft, then climbed in after it. He picked the food and carried it to where Castiel was sitting by the open window.

There were two plastic containers of rice and chicken as well as one bottle of juice for each of them. Dean sat in front of him and set the meal between them.

“Talk to me.” Dean’s voice was soft, but Castiel could tell he was serious. He produced clean forks from one of his pockets and started eating.

Castiel sighed and took the other fork, opening his own food. He could smell orange, chilies, and something else that was salty. Despite his decreased appetite, he couldn’t help taking large bites. Halfway through his meal he glanced up at Dean, who was smiling softly and eating his own food at a much slower rate. Castiel swallowed the bite in his mouth and reached for his juice. Perhaps he was hungrier than he’d thought.

“I was downstairs looking for grapefruit.” He looked at his food as he spoke, pushing rice around the sides of the clear plastic bowl with his fork. “I’d just found them when Sam touched one of my wings.”

Dean set his food down without speaking. His heart was calm, as was his scent. Castiel looked up at him and didn’t try to hide how nervous he was.

“I had a flashback.” He set his own food down and pulled his wings in tight to his back. “When I was at Ruby’s, a group of men broke in and tried to steal me. She used to put me in shows like a dog. The more awards I won for my wings, the more valuable I was. The people that came to try and take me grabbed me by my wings. They tore feathers out. Ruby caned my stomach and chest when she saw. Like she thought it was somehow my fault that they injured me.”

“Haven’t I touched your wings before?” Dean was leaning into him subtly, soft hues of violet clouding the corners of his vision with Dean’s proximity.

Castiel took another drink of juice and nodded. “You have. But…”

Dean leaned down and caught his eyes, guiding him to sit straighter and his wings to relax.

Castiel sighed and squared his shoulders against his apprehension. “You don’t give me flashbacks.”

Dean’s eyes widened, mouth falling open. The violet turned to white, then yellow, Dean’s heart rate rising. “What?”

“You don’t cause me to have flashbacks.” Castiel breathed in deeply, keeping himself from saying too much.

Dean nodded absently and looked off to the right, echoing what Castiel told him. “I don’t give you flashbacks.”

Castiel leaned over, catching Dean’s eyes as Dean had done to him. “I trust you, Dean.”

Something changed in Dean’s eyes, he exhaled sharply, and his lips twitched in an almost-smile. He took a large drink of his own juice and stared into the bottle before looking back up at Castiel. “Thank you.”

He nodded, still restraining more of the things he wanted to say. “I’m sorry I hurt Sam—”

Dean waved dismissively and shook his head. “That was an accident. Wasn’t anyone’s fault and you got nothing to be sorry for. Sammy wanted me to tell you he’s sorry he startled you.”

Castiel smiled softly. “Tell him he has nothing to be sorry for. He couldn’t have known.”

Dean smirked. “Will do.”

• •

Castiel read through Dean’s entire personal library in just over four months. Seventy-five books translated into Enochian, many of them that were hundreds of thousands of words. Rich stories that quickly got him addicted to reading. He reread everything by Vonnegut, and was moving through the fairy tales again when Dean sat down beside him on the couch and shook his head fondly.

“Y’know, Cas, there’s an entire library down the hall.” He opened his laptop and started navigating through a couple different programs, rolling his eyes and frowning at the screen frequently.

Castiel looked up from a rough sketch of Maleficent and idly chewed his lower lip. “I’ll go when I’m done with this one.”

Dean chuckled as he typed. “So tomorrow, then?”

Castiel said nothing, just stubbornly kept reading as Aurora became Briar Rose.

He dragged out _Sleeping Beauty_ for an entire day just to spite Dean, who looked all the more amused because of it. The book went back on the shelf right after breakfast. For a moment Castiel was tempted to pick out another one, but decided against it. Since Dean mentioned the library, he’d been eager to take his time and explore the titles. Two full floors, plus the shorter stacks. It excited him, but it also made him miss his brother. Inias had always been excited about reading, borrowing whichever books the orphanage had. If he was there, he’d probably have to be dragged out of the library just to eat.

Castiel imagined what it would have been like to have Inias with him as he walked down the hall. He was so caught up in his own thoughts as he turned into the library that he ran right into another angel. The impact barely staggered him, but the teenager that had collided with him at running speed was thrown onto his back.

He stared up at Castiel with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry!”

“Why are you running?” Castiel offered a hand and pulled the boy up easily.

“Oh, I was going to the Garden. I’m supposed to go flying with Gabriel.” The boy had dark blond hair and light blue eyes. He had four wings that were almost too large for him with pure white feathers that had deep crimson speckling. A light blush spread across the boy’s cheeks when he noticed Castiel’s staring. “You’re Castiel, aren’t you?”

Castiel nodded. “How many people know who I am?”

The boy shrugged. “I only know because I go to school with Uriel. He and Miss Naomi know you. My name is Samandriel.”

Samandriel glanced toward the stairs, seeming to consider something before turning and walking back into the library. Castiel followed behind him, looking at the backs of his wings. The feathers were a mess, disheveled and harboring dust and dirt in some places.

“When was the last time you were groomed, Samandriel?” They sat down in the lounge area, the sunlight making the red in Samandriel’s wings even more obvious.

He shrugged. “Gabriel usually does it when I show up for my weekly flying lesson.”

Castiel tilted his head. “You did all of that in a week?”

Samandriel ducked his head and tried to straighten a few feathers on his lower wings, but there was no way he’d have been able to reach the back of his lower pair. Where the top and bottom pairs overlapped usually gave Castiel the most trouble. He’d learned to groom himself over the years, but when he was Samandriel’s age he had to rely on whoever was around and willing to straighten to feathers that had been turned around from being rubbed together.

He sighed and shook his head. “Come here and I’ll help you, if you’d like.”

Samandriel smiled softly and nodded, sitting next to castiel on the large couch. They turned until they were sitting sideways, Samandriel’s lower back against Castiel’s knees. The actual tangling and displacement of the feathers wasn’t as bad as he’d initially thought. Whoever Gabriel was, he obviously knew what he was doing. Despite the infrequent grooming, there was plenty of oil to keep the feathers smooth and workable.

Castiel’s hands moved almost on instinct, like it hadn’t been more than a decade since he’d groomed a younger angel like this. Stress he hadn’t even known he was carrying left him as he massaged the muscles and joints in Samandriel’s wings. It wasn’t Inias, but the comfort was still there. He’d needed this.

“Why didn’t your parents ever teach you this?” He gently pulled Samandriel’s lower left wing out from behind the top, plucking a loose feather out.

Samandriel answered quietly. “I never knew them.”

Castiel’s fingers faltered as he searched for the oil gland under the joint. “I’m sorry.”

They fell back into a relaxed silence, Castiel grooming and realizing that more than likely this boy had been bred like a dog for show. Angels with more than two wings were so rare anymore that he and his own brother had been akin to a miracle. Out of three hundred children in the orphanage, only one other had four wings like they did. Right after he sold himself the shows started to become more popular, and for a few years there was even a habit among some owners to try and make their own lines. They had unusual coloration in the wings, and a handful even specialized in angels with multiple wing pairs.

The governments across the provinces called for an end to it when the angel population rose too fast for their liking. That was around the time the shows declined in popularity and Ruby sold him off. Castiel thought that if Samandriel had ever made it to show, he’d have been famous.

A loud, cheerful voice filled the entire library like an explosion. “Okay, kiddo, what’s your excuse for missing my masterful lesson this time?”

The angel it belonged to, who Castiel could only assume was Gabriel, had six wings. Samandriel sat up straight and pointed over his shoulder. “I met Castiel.”

Castiel nodded in Gabriel’s direction, eyes drawn to the rich, solid gold of the other angel’s feathers. He kept working through Samandriel’s lower set.

Gabriel flopped into a chair across from them, wings spreading wide on the floor. His feathers glittered in the sunlight. “So this is the famous Castiel. Name’s Gabriel.”

“Samandriel tells me you groom his wings weekly.” Castiel used both hands to guide the wing he was holding to a fully-extended position. More loose feathers fell out and onto the floor. He ducked until he could catch Gabriel’s eyes from between Samandriel’s wings. “He should be groomed more frequently.”

Gabriel raised his hands defensively. “Hey, don’t look at me. The kid doesn’t sit still for me or anyone else that tries.”

Samandriel snapped the other three wings out straight and crossed his arms in offense. “I sit still for Miss Naomi.”

Gabriel scoffed, hands dropping back into his lap. “That’s because Miss Naomi scares you into sitting still with her lack of a sense of humor.”

Castiel sighed and gently tapped Samandriel’s back. “Relax your wings, please. I’m not finished.”

Samandriel did as Castiel asked, both pairs pliant as they were moved, and loose feathers were plucked with barely more than slight twitching from the muscles beneath.

“So what makes him so special that you’ll actually sit through grooming?” Gabriel looked between them curiously.

Samandriel shrugged again. “He feels like a big brother.”

Castiel kept his eyes on Samandriel’s feathers as he combed through them with his fingers. He cleared his throat softly. “I am a big brother. My younger brother’s name was Inias.”

“Was?” Gabriel switched chairs and started watching Castiel work.

“I haven’t seen him since I became a slave.”

Gabriel hummed softly. “How long ago was that?”

“Fifteen years.” Castiel took a deep breath against the tightening in his chest and switched to Samandriel’s right side. “We’ll need to move when I start the lower wing.”

Samandriel was slow to nod, his head bowed and muscles lax. Castiel smiled softly despite the pain of talking about Inias. It seemed they’d both needed this.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “So, Castiel, you know how to fly?”

Castiel shook his head. “I became a slave before I could learn.”

“Do you want to learn?”

Castiel stopped grooming for a moment and looked over at Gabriel. “Are you offering to teach me?”

Gabriel smiled and shrugged. “Why not? Plus, with you there, that little brat might actually show up.”

Samandriel laughed softly and looked over his shoulder at Castiel, his eyes bright and eager. “Will you?”

Castiel looked at Samandriel for a long moment, then turned back to Gabriel. “I have been meaning to learn.”

“Alright, hurry up and finish here, then come meet me in the backyard.” Gabriel stood and walked out of the library, six wings held proudly at his back.

Castiel tried not to rush, but it had been a long time since he’d been excited for something. Samandriel didn’t really seem to mind, anyway. When they were done, Samandriel grabbed his hand and pulled him along. He felt like a big brother again.


	10. Sunrise

Despite some last-minute apprehension, flying was relatively easy. Instinct, he supposed. After all, his people had spent more time in the air than on the ground before they became involved with humans.

The backyard was large enough that Castiel could take a running start, leap, and glide for as long as the air would hold him. Samandriel would fly over him in those moments, laughing and spinning. Gabriel would shout at him to stop showing off, but it did little to deter him. There was such genuine happiness from the boy that it almost blinded Castiel to sense it.

He spent the whole of the afternoon gliding up and down the yard, getting used to having his wings carry his weight.

Gabriel patted him on the shoulder after he managed to use his wings to gain height. “I’m impressed. Takes most of them weeks to do what you have in an afternoon.”

Castiel grinned and tried to contain the depth of his pride. The sun was beginning to set, he was dripping in oil and sweat, and he was starting to get hungry.

“How often do you give lessons?” Castiel opened his wings as a stiff breeze came over them, happy to feel it catch against his feathers.

Gabriel gave a wide, lopsided smile. “Tell you what, Castiel. Meet me in the Garden tomorrow, just before sunrise. Me, you, and Anna can watch the sun come up, and then we can fly some more. Deal?”

He put his hand out, and Castiel took it, smiling wider. “Deal.”

• •

Castiel could smell dinner from the hallway. Dean was in the kitchen waiting for him when he came back, pieces of pork with roasted vegetables spread out on the island.

“Hey, Cas. Enjoy your time in the library?” Dean opened the fridge and pulled out a beer for himself, and a bottle of juice for Castiel.

“Actually, I met Samandriel.” Castiel took his usual seat and began plating his food. “I watched his flying lesson with Gabriel.”

He hadn’t initially planned on withholding information, but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to surprise Dean once he knew how to actually fly. Perhaps he could ask Gabriel to keep his secret if he and Dean spoke in the meantime. Just until he could show Dean something more impressive than gliding.

Dean grinned. “Sounds like an adventure. Think you might try?”

Castiel nodded, unable to speak with his mouth full of meat and potatoes. Over the food, he could smell faint traces of amusement. He met Dean’s eye and felt his face heat.

“I’m gonna have to start making more food when you start flying if this is how much you eat just from watching a lesson.” There was no judgment or disapproval in Dean’s tone, just warmth.

Castiel swallowed his food and took a drink. “I inadvertently skipped lunch while watching Samandriel’s lesson.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Dean smiled around his own bite of food.

Every time Castiel looked at Dean, ate with him, he felt warm, full. It was different than finally being well-fed, than making friends or reading good books. There was something about Dean. What he felt was different than simple trust, the comfort of a best friend. He had both of those with Anna, but she never made him feel like this. Nervous and excited in a way that didn’t make his throat close, his hands itch to start pulling his own feathers.

Admittedly, he’d become fixated on these emotions, the way they made him feel like he could actually make something of himself. Dean was more than just safety and a place to call home. Dean was… he was hope.

Castiel smiled softly to himself, glancing up at Dean as they ate in a comfortable silence. Dean noticed and smiled back at him.

Castiel understood why people were so drawn to hope.

• •

Dean had to go back to work. Castiel knew it would happen. It wasn’t as if Dean’s entire life had stopped after the auction. He still had a company to run, and after the fiasco with Crowley, he had to go back to a more active role. So yes, Castiel understood that four months was a long time to be away from a company Dean owned and ran. Did that make a two week business trip any less stressful for him? Of course not.

Thankfully, Dean took time to show him how the stereo worked, so he could listen to music if it got too quiet for him. Of course the library was just down the hall, and he could reread any of Dean’s books. Fundamentally, nothing was really changing. The house, the people, were all still the same. He still had flying lessons with Gabriel and met up with Samandriel for grooming. But he would be going back to an empty room. It would be the first time in four months that Dean would be gone during the night.

The more he thought about it, the more his chest would tighten and make it hard to breathe. So rather than dwell, he walked downstairs with Dean the morning of the trip. Anna was waiting for him with a fresh breakfast and they both waved goodbye as Dean walked out the front door.

Castiel had his wings pulled tight to his back and occupied himself with stirring his cereal until it was soggy. He still ate it, because he still wasn’t to a point where he could think of a good reason to throw away food save for it being rotten and molding.

Anna took his bowl once he’d finished and rinsed it for him. “The sun’s about to rise. Are you still coming to the Garden?”

Castiel nodded. If Dean wasn’t upstairs there was no point in going back early, never mind breaking established plans just to do so.

Anna smiled excitedly, her wings perking up. “I’m glad.”

“I’ve been looking forward to going out there again. The first time I tried, the smell was overwhelming. I never made it out the door.” He followed Anna down the hall, nervous as he recalled just how intense those scents had been.

“The first time I tried to go into the Garden, I got a face-full of flowers and threw up on Sam.” She grinned sheepishly over her shoulder, pausing with her hands on the doors. “He was really nice about it. Gabriel, on the other hand, never lets me forget it.”

As if waiting for a cue, Gabriel burst through the doors at the other end of the hallway. “You’re not gonna puke on Cas, are you?”

Anna rolled her eyes and sighed. “No, but if I do get sick I hope you know I’m aiming for your wings.”

Castiel chuckled as Anna opened the doors.

The smell of the foliage was intense, but not overwhelming. Gabriel and Anna both went in before him, standing just outside to wait. Unlike last time, Castiel could tell the difference between individual scents. Most of them were the trees, he realized, but he could also smell the sweetness of the wildflowers growing all around them.

Castiel took slow steps into the Garden. There was no grass just past the doors, only cool dirt that felt pleasant on his bare feet. He thought it was probably from so many people walking over the same spot. This place was well-loved and well-made. Gabriel stepped past him and closed the doors quietly.

The further they stepped into the trees, the louder things got. He remembered Anna talking about the pond somewhere near the middle, but she didn’t say anything about all the frogs he was hearing. Castiel had never actually seen a frog. Maybe Samandriel would walk in here with him, and they could find a few.

Navigating the pre-dawn darkness wasn’t as difficult as he’d have thought. Anna walked in front of him, Gabriel behind, and they seemed to know the area just as well as the house. Castiel squinted in the low light and saw the hexagonal pattern of the fencing around the Garden. Each gap was half his own height and he imagined it would make it easy for small animals to come in and out.

Gabriel came up beside him. “You ever climbed a tree before?”

Castiel looked up at the trees. Most of them were at least half as high as the house itself, huge, thick branches sprawling outward. “Not since I was a child, but I can manage.”

Anna started climbing up the cage, going almost thirty feet before she jumped a short distance onto a large branch.

She smiled down at them and Gabriel sighed dramatically. “Or you could be smart about it and use the cage.”

Castiel grinned up at Anna and copied her action, easily hauling himself up until he was level with her. Gabriel looked to be more monkey than angel, fingers finding grips in the bark that Castiel wasn’t entirely sure existed for anyone else. At least Gabriel didn’t have to jump three feet into a tree. He easily pulled himself up onto a branch on the other side of the trunk from Anna.

Some of the nervousness must have shown on Castiel’s face, because Anna gave him more space and and pulled her wings in close. “Don’t think about it, Cas, just jump. You’ll make it.”

Castiel nodded and took a deep breath. It was only three feet. He’d had walks more perilous.

“Cas, you’re thinking too much.” Anna’s voice was soft but amused. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who’d had that problem.

The sky was pale along the horizon, turning orange at the bottom where the sun was close to rising. He took a moment to admire the color, then jumped without thinking. The branch was under his feet before he knew what was happening, Anna gently squeezing his shoulder with one hand. He took a deep breath and sat down beside her.

When he was younger, he used to think the sun took hours to come up, that if he ever escaped, he could just spend as long as he wanted watching it. In truth, it really only took minutes. The sun was half up far faster than he’d expected. All around it the clouds were lit with brilliant colors of warmth. The orange tones made him think of Dean. The way that Dean’s easy smiles had a physical feeling and a bright color. Almost the same shade of orange he was seeing.

Anna was swinging her legs, wings hanging low at her back. “You know, I used to come out here all the time and watch this. Every time I see it, I keep thinking that hundreds of years ago our ancestors were doing the same thing. They were in the mountains, climbing up and watching the sunrise like we are.”

Gabriel hummed. “You're so poetic for a painter.”

Castiel let his wings droop a bit and felt the brush of leaves and bark against them. With some practice, he might even be good enough to fly in here. Someday he’d find Inias, and they could both fly in here.

He looked over at Anna and understood a bit of why she felt compelled to pain. The light of dawn made the gold and copper flecks in her wings look like embers. Even her hair glowed. He looked at his own wings, and noted that the silver shimmered a bit, making the black look even darker. Gabriel’s wings reflected the light that touched them, making them look like they were glowing. If Castiel dwelled on this moment for too long, he might get lost in the fact that he never expected to feel this sort of soft contentment. Then again, he never also expected to be learning how to fly.

“I want to be able to fly by the time Dean gets back from his trip.” Castiel spoke softly, almost like he was only speaking to himself. “I want to be able to show him.”

Gabriel plucked a leaf out of the tree and dropped it, watching the way it fluttered down to the ground. “How long’s he gone for?”

Castiel sighed softly. “Two weeks.”

“Well, shouldn’t be impossible. You took to gliding well enough. We can meet up in the backyard every other day, that way you have time for your muscles to rest. I’m sure Samandriel wouldn’t mind sitting in and playing cheerleader.” A smile could be heard in Gabriel’s voice. It was easy to tell that he loved the other angels he lived with.

Castiel smiled. “Thank you, Gabriel.”


	11. Family

When he was younger, Dean hadn’t minded business trips so much. Travelling the world was exciting, and back then he could scout companies to buy. So many small businesses were in trouble that most anyone he approached was happy to take an offer from him. He learned about other cultures, picked up some conversational phrases in a few other languages, and got to save people that were run through the trade. That was how he’d found Balthazar.

Maybe it was the fact that he was only a couple of years away from hitting thirty, but the lustre was mostly gone. He went to board meetings, clicked through auction lineup after auction lineup to make sure no one was selling children, then went right back to work. Something was missing. Rather, some _one_. He knew it wasn’t right, getting so attached to Cas, but it was too late to try and stop it.

By the middle of the second week Dean felt antsy, ready to be back home. The hotel rooms never used to bother him, but now they were too small and too quiet. He missed the background noise of having someone living with him. Since he was officially back at work it wasn’t going to be like before, but at least when he was at home he could be near Cas while he worked.

• •

Dean used to be worried about his love life causing rumors, but apparently his split from Crowley was far more scandalous. He didn’t answer any of the questions posed between meetings; it wasn’t anyone else’s business.

Someone a few seats down in the final meeting of the trip whispered about Crowley losing more business since Dean left. He didn’t try to hide his smile.

• •

Two weeks had never taken so long to pass.

It was made a little easier by Sam calling him, raving excitedly about Sarah signing her emancipation papers so they could get married. Took them both long enough, they’d been together for a couple years. Dean was just glad they were happy. The media would probably throw a shit fit, but Dean knew his little brother well enough to know that Sammy could scare anyone off of talking about Sarah with anything less than absolute respect. He was proud of that in Sam.

As much as Dean hated flying, the thought of getting home was enough to make a trip over the Atlantic bearable. Like any experienced flyer, he took books with him to read. The one he currently held was almost falling apart. His mother had read it to him when he was young, and Cas had gone through it twice. Sleeping Beauty was a classic, after all.

Dean ran his thumb across a crease left from when Cas dog-eared one of the pages. After losing his place about ten times, Dean had told him to just fold the corner of the page over. Cas had looked at him with this sort of surprised gratitude that never seemed to end.

The fact that Dean had to explain dog-earing pages to Cas poked at something in him. Anger, mostly, because Cas should’ve known this, should have been able to experience it before. Dean shouldn’t have been his first experience with true kindness.

The flight attendants came around to make sure everyone was secure, and as the plane landed, all Dean could think about was how much work his family still had to do.

• •

The house was quiet when Dean pulled up and walked inside. Right after lunch everyone was usually off doing their own thing. He walked into the foyer, ready to head up the stairs, when the sight of dark wings caught his attention. Cas was sitting in the grass outside, his wings sagging low to the ground as he picked at the grass. There was a new pinkness to his skin that could have only come from spending more time in the sun.

Dean walked over to the sliding glass door and opened it. Cas looked up when he heard the door open, a bright smile lifting his face as he stood quickly.

“You’re back.”

Dean nodded, closing the door behind him. “I would’ve called, but by the time I got on the road I didn’t want to stop.”

Cas’ wings twitched, his fingers fidgeting over one another. “That’s fine.” He waited a moment, looking off at nothing, then at Dean. “I want to show you something.”

“Alright, what’s up?”

The nervous gestures only got worse as Cas shifted his weight from foot to foot. He stepped further into the grass and closed his eyes. In the sunlight the silver freckles on Cas’ wings almost glowed against the darker base color. Dean stomped down every urge to touch those wings, even if he could pass it off as something it wasn’t.

After a moment Cas looked back at him, a shy smile curling his lips. Then he jumped into the air.

Dean’s breath caught in his chest; Cas was flying. In the short timespan of a two week business trip, Cas was already flying. Talk about determination and drive. Warmth filled his chest as he laughed loudly, so damn proud to see Cas circle around one of the trees. He thought back to the trailer, to seeing Cas’ wings balding and chapped. Seeing Cas reclaim something for himself made Dean’s heart skip.

Cas circled above twice before landing. He almost tripped over his own feet, but he was smiling so wide that it didn’t matter.

Dean ran up to him, meeting him out in the grass. “You learned to fly?”

Cas nodded, blushing lightly. “I needed a way to occupy myself during your trip.”

They stared at each other for a moment, content to take each other in without speaking. Dean put his hand on Cas’ shoulder, again exercising restraint to keep from reaching for one of the wings just behind it.

His voice was quiet as he spoke, the warmth in his chest building to something heavy and sweet. “I’m proud of you.”

Cas grabbed his forearm and squeezed. “Thank you.”

─────────────────

Dean’s emotions threatened to completely overwhelm him. Castiel could smell the sharpness of his joy, so absolute that it was infectious. Bright yellow with pale blue edges surrounded his peripheral vision, making everything he looked at brighter. Then Dean place a hand on his shoulder, a deep, rich red surging up.

The fact that Dean took pride in his accomplishment only made the emotions he was sensing more intense. The urge to reciprocate Dean’s touch was unfamiliar, but that was typical of most new experiences with Dean.

He grabbed Dean’s forearm and squeezed it, unsure of whose racing pulse he was feeling. Maybe it belonged to both of them.

• •

Thankfully, Dean began working from home. They went back to their usual routine of having meals at the island in the kitchen. Castiel had missed Dean’s conversation. Even subjects he didn’t understand, like marketing and business strategy, were preferable to the dark silences he’d dealt with for the past two weeks.

Dean told him Crowley was losing more business, and he smiled around a bite of his food. The look in Dean’s eyes told him that he wasn’t the only one viciously pleased by the news.

• •

Castiel loved Anna, and he loved her cooking, but no one made burgers like Dean. When Dean had been gone, he sat with the other angels often. Everyone else met downstairs and ate on the front porch if the weather was fair. He got to meet the remaining angels, three more children. They flocked to him during meals, and it surprised him that something so simple gave him so much comfort. The more he thought about it, the more he knew what he wanted to do.

Dean tore into his own burger, eyes unfocused. They got like that when he was deep in thought. Castiel cleared his throat, easily gaining Dean’s attention. His own meal was mostly untouched, and he caught the concern Dean felt when he noticed.

“Cas? What’s up?” Dean put his burger down and sat straight in his chair.

Castiel took a deep breath, fighting the panic that bubbled up in his throat. “I want to find Inias.”

Dean blinked, then nodded. “Alright, I’ll start having some friends of mine look for him. Anywhere you want me to start?”

“Our orphanage was on the west coast, by the ocean.” Castiel swiped a french fry through ketchup absently. There was no way he could eat now. “Dean, you don’t think Inias…”

Dean shook his head. “No, he’s not a slave. I already checked every database I could find.”

Relief washed over Castiel when he heard that. His brother wasn’t suffering like he had. The fact that Dean checked without being asked made one corner of his mouth lift.

He met Dean’s eyes. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean nodded, offering a warm smile. “Of course.”

Castiel still toyed with his food. He knew he should eat, but his usual appetite was missing. Did Inias have food? Was he working? Maybe he’d gone to another country that was more friendly to their kind. The chances were slim, but it wasn’t unheard of.

Dean gently touched the back of his hand with two fingers, keeping them there even after Castiel looked up and met his gaze. “We’ll find him, Cas. I promise.”

Castiel nodded. He believed any promise Dean made. After all, Dean had promised himself that he was going to find Castiel years ago, and now here they were.

• •

The prospect of meeting new people wasn’t nearly as frightening as it used to be. Dean had seemed nervous when he asked if Castiel would be willing to meet more humans, but it wasn’t warranted. The moment Dean described them as family, Castiel knew he could handle it. It did also help that the focus of the visit was Sam and Sarah’s upcoming wedding, and not Castiel himself.

Sam was already in the downstairs kitchen when he and Dean came down. He looked at Castiel and smiled, a hint of nervousness in his scent.

He extended a hand as Castiel approached. “Hey, Castiel, thought we might try this again.”

Castiel accepted the handshake and nodded. “I promised Dean I wouldn’t attempt to strangle anyone today.”

Sam’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open. Behind them Dean laughed softly, prompting Sam to relax and laugh in kind, if a bit nervously. “Good to see that my brother has already given you his morbid sense of humor.”

Dean snorted and walked by them, glancing out to the open front doors. “I have a great sense of humor.”

Castiel looked out to the backyard, where the children were having a group lesson with Gabriel. Naomi stood off to the side, frowning when Uriel crash-landed in the grass. Noise from the front of the house drew his attention. He stood at Dean’s side as an elderly gentleman walked inside. His clothing was worn and tired-looking, jeans with stains and holes. The only thing that kept Castiel from thinking the man was of a different social class was Dean greeting him.

“Bobby! What took you so long?” Both Dean and Sam walked up and gave Bobby a hug.

Castiel had heard about Bobby from Dean. From what he knew, Bobby had raised Sam and Dean while their own father poured himself into the company that now funded projects like Castiel’s rescue.

“Can it, boy. If you didn’t live out in the middle of nowhere, I might be able to come visit more often.” Bobby looked over at Castiel and took a step toward him. “So, this is that angel you were obsessing over?”

Dean coughed, a blush filling his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck and used his free hand to smack Sam across the stomach when he started laughing.

Castiel extended a hand to Bobby. “My name is Castiel.”

Bobby shook his hand with a firm grip. “Bobby, but I’m sure you know who I am.”

Castiel nodded. “Dean’s told me a lot about you.”

Dean was still blushing off to the side, while Bobby snorted and smirked. “Don’t believe a word of it.”

Castiel squinted and tilted his head. Why wouldn’t he believe what Dean had told him about this man? “He told me you’re the closest thing he and Sam have to a father.”

The room fell silent, Dean and Sam both completely still. Bobby chuckled softly. “Boy’s a sap. I stand by what I said.”

Dean and Sam relaxed, though Castiel was still confused. Bobby and Sam walked out of the house, talking about tents of some sort. He looked at Dean as they left.

“I don’t understand.”

Dean smiled and walked up to him, clapping him on the shoulder gently. “Don’t worry about it, Cas. C’mon, let’s go out back before Jo gets in here.”

Castiel followed Dean toward the back door, looking back as female voices echoed in from the front. “Are we avoiding her?”

“No, no, not at all.” Dean was clearly being sarcastic.

Castiel squinted, feeling a little lost in the family interactions. From what he knew these people would be in the house for at least a week, so he would have time to observe and learn more about them.

• •

Upon meeting Jo, Castiel began to understand a little about why Dean was hiding from her. They bickered like brother and sister, trading snipes and flicking each other in the arm until Ellen or Bobby told them to stop. It was more akin to watching small children throwing food at each other.

Jo sat down in a chair beside Castiel on the porch. He didn’t know if it was her skin or hair, but something about her smelled like wildflowers. It wasn’t as strong as a regular perfume, but it was easily noticeable. Luckily it was gentle enough that it wouldn’t give him a headache.

“So, tell me the truth: was Dean avoiding me?”

Castiel watched Dean run after Samandriel in the yard, laughing as they shot each other with water guns. Gabriel swooped by overhead and dropped an entire bucket on them both. They looked at each other for a moment, then came to some sort of silent agreement before Dean boosted Samandriel into the air so he could chase after Gabriel.

Castiel smiled at the scene, watching Dean shake himself off and make his way back up to the porch. When he looked back at Jo, she was watching him calmly, looking between him and Dean. She hummed and smiled at him, seeming to forget her previous question.

“Dean likes sculpture. He’ll never admit it, but he really likes little figures that can move.” She grinned wider and got up, walking back to her previous spot beside her mother.

Dean sat down beside him, wiping his face with wet hands. “What’d Jo want?”

“She asked if you were avoiding her earlier, but told me you like sculpture before I could answer.”

Dean turned to him, brows furrowed and lips pulled into a slight frown. “She told you I like sculpture?”

Castiel shrugged. “That was what she said.”

A flash of gold caught their attention as Gabriel made a sharp turn. Samandriel was still behind him, but now he was accompanied by Balthazar. They turned sharply through the air, chasing and nearly crashing into each other.

Dean put one hand over his brow to act as a shield. “Any time Gabriel and Balthazar fly together it ends in property damage.”

Castiel smiled. “At least they can fly here.”

Dean grinned back softly, then winced when the sound of something crashing was heard from the yard.

Samandriel rolled away from the shattered remains of a large flower pot. He stood, extending his once clean, groomed wings, then his arms. “I’m okay!”

Castiel and Dean sighed in unison, then Dean spoke in a resigned tone. “Property damage, every time.”

“I just groomed him.”

Dean snorted. “He’s a kid. Clean doesn’t last.”

Castiel frowned. “He could try.”

Dean laughed quietly. “Tell you what, bring him to dinner. You can scold him over fried chicken.”

Castiel looked over at Dean, a soft smile spreading over his face. “I’d like that.”

A matching smile curved Dean’s lips. “Awesome.”


	12. How to say, "I love you"

Sam and Sarah opted for a private wedding at the house, which Castiel easily understood. The status of Dean and Sam’s family alone made it the obvious choice, but Sarah’s social status presented another hurdle all on its own. It was illegal to marry a slave, and Castiel was grateful for that fact, being that a slave couldn’t exactly say no if their master proposed. But it meant that anyone wishing to marry a slave had to emancipate them first. To say that freed slaves were looked upon unkindly would have been a gross understatement.

Though, Castiel imagined he’d never hear an ill word said toward Sarah. Not if people were smart. Dean and Sam were brothers, after all, and Dean had made Crowley more than miserable for events he only knew second-hand. The Winchesters had an admirable tenacity and a strong will to protect their own.

After some small bit of debate, they chose the backyard as the setting. The upcoming reception resulted in dozens of people swarming the house. Castiel took the opportunity to avoid the busy teams of event planners by choosing to read in his loft. Samandriel had helped him carry books in from the library last night, after the dinner Dean had suggested. Dean even spoke in Enochian during the dinner, something Castiel hadn’t heard before.

Hearing the language coming from Dean’s mouth made it difficult to breathe, but not in any way he was used to. It wasn’t panic taking over his system and controlling him, nothing quite so sharp. This was different, warmer and heavier, but not suffocating. All he could focus on was the way Dean’s lips and tongue moved around each syllable, forming it so perfectly in a way he’d never heard from even practiced humans. Perhaps he was awed by it.

The wedding was also making Castiel think about things. Things he’d been putting off and even outright denying. He was an adult; he knew what he was feeling for Dean, the word for it and what it meant. Really, he just wasn’t completely sure how to let himself be in love. It was terrifying.

• •

Isolation only lasted a day and a half before Anna came up to get him. He knew she wouldn’t make him go anywhere that would cause an issue with his anxiety, so he went willingly. There weren’t as many people upstairs as there were downstairs; mostly it was the other angels.

Anna led him to the west side of the estate, past the library, and down another long hallway. Samandriel and Uriel were chasing after each other, darting in and out of rooms with another of the children, Rachel. Unfortunately, Samandriel was at a bit of a disadvantage. It looked like they were playing hide and seek, and Castiel knew from experience that hiding behind something was remarkably difficult when there were four wings involved. The bright red banding on his white feathers were also a detriment. Samandriel looked like he was still having fun, though, which made Castiel smile.

Anna saw him watching and smiled to him. “He needs a big brother like you.”

Castiel said nothing, only nodded and kept following her. All he would be able to say was that he needed a younger brother again, and he wasn’t ready to say those words.

They walked through a pair of double doors into a large studio. The walls were a pristine white that spread the natural light from the windows around, making the lights in the ceiling unnecessary with the view of the sky they had. Castiel looked into the back yard and saw tents and tables being set up. The theme looked to be blue and white, with silver accents.

Anna caught his attention again by calling him to the other side of the room, where she and another woman had easels set up. He walked over and glanced at the canvases. One of them was an outdoor scene, the silhouettes of angels standing over a cliff with the sun perched just above the edge of a distant horizon. He thought back to the Garden, when Anna mentioned that their ancestors must have watched the sunrise. This scene looked more like a sunset, though. Darker colors filled the sky, bleeding into the light and dimming it. The whole thing seemed somber to him, like an end.

The other canvas was much brighter, various flowers from the flowerbeds in front of the house. Castiel looked at the woman painting, a human.

She looked back at him and extended a paint-flecked hand. “Hi, I’m Sarah.”

Castiel stood straighter, shaking her hand firmly. He’d never met her before, or even seen her. She was beautiful. “I’m—”

“Castiel, yeah. Sam mentioned you. Your wings are a lot bigger than he said they’d be.” The fact that she didn’t mention the incident with Sam in the kitchen was a great relief.

Castiel extended his wings gently, blocking a good portion of the light from the windows behind him. “Yes, well Sam is rather… large.”

Sarah laughed and set her paintbrush down. “He’s not really average, is he? Almost makes Dean look short.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Bobby walked up and clapped Sarah on the shoulder with one hand, the other filled with a coil of wire. “How’re you feeling, Sarah?”

Castiel tuned out of the conversation, his attention focused on the wire. He’d seen sculptures made from wire before, even some that moved. With reading and practice, he was sure he’d be able to make something. Maybe even something he would be confident in enough to give to Dean.

The sound of fingers snapping brought him back, Bobby holding the coil in his hand out for Castiel to take. It wasn’t overly thin wire, heavier than he expected.

“You wanna try and do somethin’ with it?” Bobby smiled softly, hands on his hips.

“I’ll need to read first.” Castiel tried bending some of the wire with his fingers, but it wouldn’t budge. He’d need tools.

Bobby watched him patiently. “I got some books. What can you read?”

Castiel frowned and looked up at Bobby. “Only Enochian.”

He shrugged. “That’s fine. I got books in both languages, plus some you really only need for the pictures.”

“Do you have anything that could help with making figures? Smaller things, mostly.” There were several silver-toned coils and a couple of copper and bronze ones on a nearby table. A design was already forming in his head.

A knowing smile came across Bobby’s face. “Yeah, I got somethin’ like that. You wanna start today?”

Castiel nodded. “Please.”

Bobby grinned and nodded back. “Alright, take a seat over at the table. I’ll be back with your books and some pliers.”

Anna and Sarah were both smiling at him like they knew something. It made his wings fidget with the need to cover him from their view. He’d only just begun to admit that he loved Dean, and he wasn’t sure he liked that everyone else seemed to have known before he did. Then again, maybe that was what made them a family.

• •

Working with the wire felt natural. It was simple for him to look at the images and instructions and create works of his own. Bobby was impressed with him, he could tell, though nothing was ever said. From what Dean had told him, Bobby expressed his pride in other manners. Like giving Castiel more books and coils of wire. Some of them even had coatings in bright colors.

In less than a week, he had small figures of people sitting around his window and bed, the largest of which were as big as his hand. A few of them even had moving arms and legs. Dean knew he’d begun working with wire, but no one other than Bobby knew the progress he’d made. He wanted to surprise Dean again, to see joy infecting his sight until it was blinding.

Castiel flipped through book after book until he saw the perfect project. He would need to modify it, but the wings were too beautiful for him to pass up.

─────────────────

While Dean knew that the setup for a wedding wasn’t supposed to be easy, he didn’t think it was supposed to push him to want to commit homicide. Everyone seemed smart enough to keep their comments to themselves, but it wasn’t hard to pick up on their prejudice. Some of the workers took exaggerated paths around the angels. Gabriel and Balthazar both had fun taunting those ones. Sam had tried to ask them to tone it down, but it was only for show. Neither he nor Dean had patience for people who treated angels like shit.

If Gabe or Bal happened to shove someone into a wall using their wings, well obviously it was just an accident and not something requiring any form of disciplinary action.

Ellen looked like she wanted to say something to them, probably something along the lines of being the bigger men, but the issue was just too damn sore, and she knew that. There was no way they were just going to let it go and forgive. They shouldn’t have had to.

• •

The wedding itself went beautifully. Sam cried, Sarah cried, Dean was trying his damnedest to deny that he cried. There weren’t separate sections for the bride and the groom, just friends and family standing around the lawn. Even if they’d had sections, there weren’t enough people invited that didn’t already live there to fill even ten chairs. Nobody really cared about that, though. The people they had were more than enough.

A little boy named Ben was the ringbearer. If ever Dean thought he might have been cloned, Ben would have been the result. The kid flirted with almost everything that moved and didn’t seem to care if there were wings involved. His mother, Lisa, spent most of the reception shaking her head and laughing at her son’s antics.

The flower girl, one of Bobby’s rescues, was a shy blonde by the name of Hester. The persistent frown on her face didn’t seem to dissuade Ben any. He just worked harder to get her to crack a smile. Never mind that Hester was at least three years older than he was. If anything, that made the kid more determined.

Dean sat down beside Lisa, handing her a fresh flute of champagne. She was wearing a little too much perfume, but that wasn’t really her fault.

“If Ben’s uncle was here, he’d be whispering pointers.” She sounded a little exasperated, but definitely fond.

Dean chuckled. “I don’t know, he seems to be doing just fine on his own.”

Lisa was beautiful, Dean’s usual type wrapped up in a gorgeous dress and expensive heels. Her kid was great, making an exaggerated sound of success when Hester finally laughed at something he said. Despite all that, asking her out felt like something he was doing out of habit rather than actual interest. The longer he sat next to her, the more he wondered where Cas was.

• •

Dean didn’t make it back to his and Cas’ room until well after the sun went down. He could still hear the music until he closed his door, his head pounding with the drumbeat. The kitchen light was on, Cas’ wings casting a large shadow over the coffee table and couch from where he sat at the island. He smiled when Dean walked in, then frowned and sniffed curiously at the air.

“Perfume?” Cas’ lower wings were pulled over the front of his lap, hiding his hands from view.

Dean took off his jacket and waistcoat, tossing them onto his bed. “Yeah, a few of Sam and Sarah’s guests were wearing some. We’re probably gonna be smelling it for days.”

Cas nodded thoughtfully, watching Dean move through the kitchen as he got a glass of water and sat down. “How was the reception?”

Half the glass was gone in one long drink, some of it dribbling down Dean’s chin. He wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand and made a face when he got a noseful of Lisa’s perfume.

“It was good. I didn’t see you there; did you eat?”

Cas nodded. “Yes, I did. I made some sandwiches. I wanted to attend, but I’m not much for large gatherings. The music and the smells usually give me a headache.”

Dean nodded. “I know the feeling.”

There was a slight nervous twitch in Cas’ top wings, then he looked down into his lap. “I wasn’t bored, though, if that was your worry.”

Just as Dean was about to speak, Cas lifted one hand out of his lap, his fingers gently curled around a mess of wire. He set it down on the island, the form immediately clear to Dean. It was a dragonfly. A thin gauge of enameled wire made up the body, red and orange twisted together to make it more sturdy. The legs and wings were made from a silver-tone wire that contrasted beautifully with the warmer colors. Dean reached out and gently traced the edge of one wing. The whole thing was a little wider than his hand, and a couple inches longer.

He licked his lips and looked up at Cas. “You made this?”

Cas nodded. “I wanted to have it done yesterday so I could give it to Sarah as a wedding gift, but I wasn’t able to.”

Dean picked the sculpture up and looked at it more closely. The fact that Cas made it was more than enough to impress him, but the fact that it probably happened within the last week was making his head spin. He had no clue Cas was that good already. It shouldn’t have surprised him, though.

“Cas, this is awesome. They’ll love it.” He set it back down, a wide smile plastered across his face. It was probably the first genuine smile he’d had this week outside of hearing his little brother say, ‘I do’.

Cas’ wings and shoulders fell a bit, tension draining out of his frame. “I’m glad you think so. I also meant to have this finished earlier, but I’m glad I can give it to you now.”

The other hand came out of hiding, another wire figure held securely in his fist. Blue wire made the torso of a person, their arms reaching up above their head. Behind it there were wings made from thick gauge copper wire that spread wide, flaring out like they were in mid flight.

Dean’s fingers shook as he reached out and took the gift, breath locked in his throat and his heart pounding. “Cas, this is…”

“The symbol of the angel’s rights movement. I found it fitting for you.” Cas sounded so sure, so confident.

Tears sprang up in Dean’s eyes, his smile faltering for a moment as he laughed and wiped them away. He took a deep breath and touched one of the arms, surprised when both of them seemed to move under the pressure. Cas was perfectly still across from him, waiting for his reaction. Dean used two fingers and pressed down on the arms, more tears filling his eyes when the wings went up in the back.

“You’re crying. Do you not like it?” Cas sounded panicked, his fingers and wings fidgeting.

“That’s not it, don’t worry.” Dean shook his head and took a moment to wipe away the fresh tears. He inhaled slowly and moved the arms and wings of the figurine again, then met Cas’ eyes. “I never told you this, but the reason Bobby raised me and Sammy was because my dad was kinda just gone after our mom died. He was working all the time, trying to make something she’d be proud of, I guess.”

Dean closed his eyes tightly against the memories of the smoke and flames, the sounds of his infant brother wailing in his arms as he ran into the backyard and tried to make them as small as possible. The images faded after a moment, but he almost thought he could smell smoke as he forced himself to breathe. Cas sat quietly, waiting for him to continue.

“One of my mom’s friends gave her a necklace with a pendant of this guy,” he indicated the angel figure in his hand, “‘cause she was the kind of person that let everyone know that she hated how people treated each other, but that she especially hated how people treated angels. Didn’t really make her many friends to have opinions like that. She and my dad met after the war at some rally. I remember going to one like it when I was little, right before she died.”

Dean smiled at the memory, wiping away another tear as it fell across his cheek. The rare occasions that his dad was around, he always drilled it into his and Sam’s heads that angels were their equals and especially that slavery was wrong. People didn’t own people, he’d always say. Right before he died, he’d told Dean to use the company to do some good in the world, to do something his mom would’ve been proud of.

He ran his thumb across one of the wings, then gently set it down on the island next to the dragonfly. “I love it, Cas, thank you.”

Cas smiled softly, something a little nervous in his eyes. “It goes with something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Dean took another drink of water and sniffed against his runny nose. “What’s up?”

All four of Cas’ wings pulled close to his back, and he ran his thumb along the inside of his wrist. “When you bought me…”

The air around them changed, making Dean sit up straighter and refocus all of his attention so it was on Cas. Almost a minute passed where all Cas did was open his mouth, then close it again. Whatever it was that needed to be said, he was struggling with it.

Dean reached forward and gently touched the side of Cas’ hand. “Hey, whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I do, actually.” Cas swallowed roughly, then took a deep breath and started again. “When you bought me, I’d had a plan ready for the chance that I might have ended up with someone like Alastair. I was so tired, and I just wanted everything to be over. I was ready to provoke whoever bought me next into killing me. I didn’t care what I had to do, or if I had to kill someone else for them to do it.”

“You wanted to commit suicide?” Dean gaped, his fingers still touching Cas’ hand.

Cas didn’t look at Dean as he nodded. “But then you bought me. I knew of your reputation, but I didn’t trust it. I wanted to know how you would react if I attacked you.”

Dean thought back to Cas slamming him into the wall, crushing him against it until he couldn’t breathe. That had been more than just a test of Dean’s temperament. Cas had been measuring how long he’d be living after that day.

Cas looked up at him, tears starting to fill his eyes. “If you hadn’t bought me, it’s very likely that I would be dead right now. Thank you, Dean. For everything.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, giving Cas a chance to breathe. His fingers moved against Cas’ hand, then Cas pulled away from him, standing up to leave.

“Cas—”

“That’s all I wanted to say. I actually think I’ll take a shower and go to bed.” Cas almost tripped as he walked out of the kitchen. “I’ll see you in the morning, Dean.”

Before Dean could form a reply Cas was gone, having jumped back into the loft. Dean looked back at the angel sculpture on the island, flinching when Cas’ bathroom door slammed shut. The water came on a moment later. Cas always took a shower to come down after a panic attack. After the bomb he dropped, Dean was thinking he might need one himself.

Every event of that day looked different now, and every bit of progress Cas had made since then seemed so much larger. Dean couldn’t help thinking what would have happened if anything had gone differently, if he’d shown up later, if Alastair had somehow weaseled Zachariah Adler into a private purchase. If anything had been different, Dean would have lost Cas without even meeting him. He wouldn’t even know Cas’ name. Just that serial number he was already half forgetting.

Dean put his head in his hands and swallowed down the sick feeling crawling up his throat at the thought of Cas’ lifeless body being carted off for cremation at some backwater government facility. Cas had given up; he’d wanted to _die_. The only reason he wasn’t dead was because Dean got lucky and made it to the auction in time. Five years. He had searched for five years, and he’d never known he was so close to losing all of it.

He listened to the water running in Cas’ shower and took in a trembling breath. “Shit.”


	13. Rate of Change

Castiel reread the same page of Dracula four times before sighing and closing the book. He couldn’t concentrate with Dean gone. Normally it wasn’t that bad, but this time was different. Dean was on a date, and Castiel, despite all of his good sense, wasn’t able to focus on anything else. The longer he sat and thought about it, the more he started wishing that he’d gone to the reception last week. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t be sitting alone in their room.

It wasn’t right of him to feel this way, to be so fixated and to even wish he could’ve prevented this. Dean was an adult and was allowed to go on dates. He didn’t need a slave sitting alone in the dark pining for him. It wasn’t right.

Castiel looked up at the window by Dean’s bed, smiling softly to himself when he saw the wire figure hanging there. Dean had hung it up the morning after Castiel gave it to him. It sat there, catching sunlight and spinning on its string in plain view of anyone who would look up. Most people, when given a symbol so polarizing and even offensive, would’ve put it some place inconspicuous. Not Dean. He set it up in a place where it could cast a shadow over their entire room every time the sun came up.

It was easy to take comfort in that, but Castiel still couldn’t get rid of all the bitter thoughts circling his head. Would Dean be home before sunrise? Would he smell like more perfume when he came back? If he and this woman got along, how much longer would Dean be willing to share their room? How long would it take before Dean decided he needed more privacy, that Castiel was intruding?

Castiel stared out the window, debating with himself if it would be worth it to fly a little before the sun went down. He still wasn’t confident enough to try night flying, though Balthazar had invited him multiple times.

A low rumble from his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten, and he frowned at the source of the noise before standing and heading to the kitchen. Dean had left food in the oven for him, a casserole of some kind. He took it out and licked his lips. It was pasta covered in a creamy, cheesy sauce. Castiel put two large scoops onto a plate and sat down at the island. There was shredded chicken hidden throughout the mess of cheese and noodles, making him eat the rest of his helping twice as fast when he tasted it.

The door opened while he pondered seconds, Dean sighing softly before coming all the way in and closing the door behind himself. He was in the kitchen a moment later, a trail of perfume clinging to the air at his back. When he saw Castiel’s clean plate he smiled, squinting a little at the light in the ceiling.

“How’d you like it?” He sat down in his usual seat, tired but happy-looking.

Castiel looked between the casserole on the counter and his plate in front of him. “I might have more. What is it, exactly?”

Dean grinned. “It’s baked chicken alfredo. Casseroles are a bachelor’s best friend.”

The smell of the perfume only became more obvious the longer Dean sat. Castiel held his breath as much as possible. “So, how was your date?”

Something flashed through Dean’s eyes, but it was gone too quickly for Castiel to really pick up on it, and the chemicals on Dean’s clothing were too thick for him to tell from scent. Dean licked his lips, then looked down at his hands and shrugged.

“It was alright. Probably not gonna go out again.” Dean met his eyes briefly, then looked away. “She just um… she isn’t what I want, I guess.”

Castiel pursed his lips against a smile, a feeling of guilt washing over him that sat just beneath his happiness at the words.

• •

Dean slept in after his date, leaving Castiel with an entire morning to fill. The perfumed clothing was tossed in the laundry, but the smell of it still lingered unpleasantly. Essential oils from various flowers and the sting of the alcohol carrier in the perfume’s recipe clung to the room. It reminded Castiel of his days doing shows, when he would have the residue of scented oils stuck to his feathers for days. He didn’t think he’d ever understand the need to enhance the way an angel smelled. From a human perspective, maybe it wasn’t so strange. Their senses were so dull in comparison, they must have thought the innumerable layers of flowers and herbs were delicious.

Castiel wandered through his own thoughts aimlessly as he held one of Dean’s ties, rubbing the soft silk between his thumb and forefinger absently. It wasn’t until he came back to himself minutes later that he realized he’d left his own scent in the fabric. Scent marking was an intimate act, a claim. He frowned at the spot of oil his skin had left and put the tie on the couch in the living area.

Maybe it wasn’t the perfume itself that had bothered him as much as it was the implication of Dean being marked by someone. Reasonably, of course, he knew that wasn’t the case. Dean was human, as was Lisa, so they didn’t know the sort of instinctual riot something as simple as scent could incite.

But Castiel did. He knew better, and he knew it was wrong to mark Dean.

That didn’t stop him from opening Dean’s closet beside the bathroom to mark the collar of every shirt hanging there.

─────────────────

At first he’d thought he was imagining it, maybe that he was just being hopeful to the point of delusion. Then he saw a smudge on one of his good shirts, and he knew he was right. Cas was scent marking his clothes. It wasn’t just an accident, either, it couldn’t have been. The shirt he was holding had been hanging in his closet, pristine. Or at least he’d thought it was pristine and untouched. Obviously he’d been wrong.

Dean wondered if he shouldn’t try to find another shirt to wear. Then again, maybe Cas marked all of them, so what did it matter anyway? He slipped the shirt on and buttoned it, pretending that he didn’t know full fucking well what he was agreeing to with the act.

After that his first stop was Sam, who’d just returned from his honeymoon. Maybe the heavy questions could’ve waited another week, but Dean had to talk to someone, and his little brother was the person he trusted most in the world. For his part, Sam didn’t really seem surprised. Dean laid out the entire situation, right down to the smudges of oil on his clothing that had to be Cas scent marking him.

Sam shrugged to him. “I’m not really the person you should be talking to about this, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Somehow I don’t think talking to Cas is really gonna help.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Sam leaned back and sighed. “This is an angel thing. So talk to an angel.”

When it was said so plainly, Dean wondered why he hadn’t just thought to do that in the first place. He thanked his little brother and ruffled that long girly hair before leaving. Sam was right; he needed to talk to an angel about this, and he knew just the one.

• •

Balthazar was nothing if not amused as he entered the room. Dean was sitting by the window, holding one of his favorite ties that Cas had marked. Cas was off flying with Samandriel, so Dean knew he had some time to talk and figure things out. As much as they were going to be figured out, anyway. Trying to make anything out of it felt like he was crossing some sort of line.

“So, what brings me to the VIP room?” Balthazar perched on the end of Dean’s bed, his wings sagging in relaxation.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and tossed the tie at his friend. “Tell me that me and Sam are crazy.”

Balthazar raised an eyebrow then lifted the silk to his nose and sniffed, eyes widening almost immediately. He gave Dean the tie back and crossed his arms, his wings drawing up a bit in the process.

“When did this start?”

“Um, a couple days ago, maybe? Right after I came back from that date.” Dean cringed because he knew how it sounded. “He’s scent marking me, isn’t he?”

A subtle nod was Balthazar’s only response. It seemed like Dean wasn’t the only one in the room at a loss.

A moment later Balthazar sat straighter, uncrossing his arms to put his hands on his hips. “I take it you haven’t spoken to Cas?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t even know what the hell I’d say.”

Balthazar hummed, then took in a deep breath, likely smelling more of Castiel’s scent that Dean was missing. “So, what do you want to do about this?”

He honestly hadn’t thought about what he’d do; he was just trying to figure out what it meant. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“See, because I’m your friend, I know you’re lying to yourself.”

Dean looked up at Balthazar, lips pursed, then back down at the tie in his hands. “There isn’t really anything I _can_ do, Bal.”

“And why not?” Balthazar put one hand up placatingly when Dean made to speak. “All I’m saying, is there’s something there. I know you weren’t looking for it, and he clearly wasn’t either, but it is there nonetheless.”

Dean ground his teeth and sighed. “I can’t take advantage of him.”

“Then don’t.” Balthazar shrugged casually, like this whole thing wasn’t more than a clusterfuck and a half.

“How can you just say that?” Dean clutched the tie tightly between his fingers, expensive silk wrinkling and bunching as he pulled on it.

“You really don’t see it, do you?” Balthazar squinted at him with a slight tilt of the head.

“See what?” The silk fell slack against his fingers as they relaxed.

A slight quirk lifted Balthazar’s lips. “You spent five years of your life searching for him. You’re only in your twenties, you’re one of the wealthiest men in the world, and you blow half a decade on one angel in the slave trade. Of course money doesn’t matter in this case, being that you spent ten times whatever it cost to find Cas just on that library down the hall.”

Dean sighed heavily. “Bal—”

“You are the last person on this planet who would ever take advantage of him. The fact that he has chosen to stay here when there are dozens of rooms you would furnish to his liking proves it.” Balthazar sounded so sure of Dean, so sure of everything. Dean envied that right now. “Besides, and answer this honestly, if he asked for his freedom, how quickly would you have the papers printed?”

Dean swallowed roughly and licked his lips, chewing on the bottom one before answering quietly. “They’ve been drawn up for months.”

Balthazar gave a slow nod, letting the information sink in before speaking. “So you’ve got emancipation papers filed away somewhere when he never once indicated he wanted them. You’re willing to give him legal freedom, his personhood in the eyes of the law, the second he asks it of you… and you’re worried that you’ll be taking advantage of him by accepting what he’s offering you right now?”

Dean didn’t look up as he replied. “I can’t hurt him.”

“I know you can’t.” Balthazar leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees.

“That’s not—”

“I know it’s not what you meant, Dean. In case I haven’t made it clear, let me explain it simply: the only way you will hurt our dear Cas is if you don’t trust yourself.” Balthazar looked out the window, toward the Garden, where Dean knew Samandriel and Cas were. “He quite obviously trusts you. Speaking from experience, when you find us, our trust is the most valuable thing we have—the only thing we have, too often. Cas has given his to you. So what do you want to give back to him, Dean?”

Dean ran his thumb over the light smudge of oil on the underside of his tie, a smile finally lifting his lips. It sounded a lot less like a clusterfuck when Bal put it like that.

• •

No one around the house said anything about the extra scent Dean carried, but then again none of them were probably as surprised as he’d been. The whole thing was made easier by the fact that Cas wasn’t really acting any different. At first Dean had thought things would change somehow, but Cas was still his same self, and so was Dean. Whatever was happening between them, it was because of who they were, not in spite of it.

Keeping that in mind made it easy to go out of his way to wear things Cas had marked. It only took a couple weeks for him to figured out where to look for the smudges of oil and just where to press his nose to double check. After a month he wasn’t even bothering to check, because Cas was marking everything. Dean started wondering if anything they shared even smelled like him anymore. Maybe the books did, because those never left the room.

Sometimes Cas would blush when Dean would sit down wearing something freshly marked. Dean never gave any indication that he knew; he didn’t even know where to begin that conversation. It was easier to just show up for a meal wearing something from the newly clean laundry that Cas had rifled through.

It had been almost nine months since Dean showed up at Cas’ final auction, and the biggest change between them was starting to seem like it would be the easiest.


	14. Wing Over Heel

Even as a child, Castiel hadn’t understood the infatuation people had with love and trust. Not romantically, at least. All he had was his little brother, and even as he grew and was tossed from owner to owner, he thought Inias was all he would ever need. Despite the rather large chance that he would never see his brother again, Castiel had always believed that his own memories and the knowledge of his brother’s safety could sustain him. By the time Dean found him, he’d come to know that wasn’t true.

By the time Dean found him, he didn’t think he could trust, and he never imagined himself loving someone—especially not a human.

But then Dean found him.

Castiel didn’t really understand how ten months was enough time for his oldest, strongest nightmares to subside. He did still have them, but not like he used to. They didn’t come for weeks at a time, nor did they leave his throat constricted, and he hadn’t pulled out any of his own feathers in months. Panic-induced plumotillomania, Naomi had called it. Everything she said was so clinical. All he knew was that the panic that brought it on was so infrequent anymore.

Dean wearing his scent helped. There was something about what it meant that soothed him. He’d been marking Dean for nearly three months. Almost everything of Dean’s had some bit of oil on it from his skin or wings, and sometimes both. The fact that Dean couldn’t even smell something so subtle bothered him, if he was honest. More than that, the longer he did it, the more wrong his methods started to feel.

Loving Dean hadn’t been something he’d ever thought possible. Being touched by someone without his skin crawling and stomach turning was still foreign to him, but with Dean it felt natural. Small brushes of Dean’s fingers on his arms, hands… even his wings. They leaned toward each other across the island during meals, laughing together. Under his own scent, he could still smell Dean so beautifully and vibrantly.

His guilt only got worse when he realized that his feelings were actually being reciprocated. Dean felt, at least partially, the same. They would sit and listen to music, Dean watching him keenly as he took in the melody and lyrics of various classic songs. After a while he would just close his eyes and watch the flood of brilliant colors behind his eyelids.

Dean loved him enough to make him feel like he was drowning in it. He’d gotten better at picking apart Dean’s scent, and even the strange undercurrent that he’d grown used to was sweeter than before.

When Dean was gone, the traces of him that were left in the room were tinged with his caring. It bounced off the walls like an echo. Dean loved him, and Castiel repaid that love by going behind Dean’s back to claim him without his consent.

The stress of it was building to the point that he couldn’t even be bothered to be surprised when he stopped sleeping for nearly two days. He’d been working himself up too badly about the marking to be able to sleep. Dean was worried, offering things like warm milk and relaxing music. By the time Castiel felt like laying down, he knew he would have a nightmare.

_The door to their room is open, and Castiel’s bed is in the hallway with all of his belongings stacked up. There isn’t really that much. He walks just inside the door and sees Dean putting his favorite books in a box._

_A smile is given to him, Dean handing him the box once it’s packed. “I know it’s kinda sudden, but I think you need your own room now. I mean, you’ve been here for almost a year, Cas.”_

_Castiel looks at the window beside Dean’s bed, the wire figure no longer hanging there. The sky turns dark, the room falling pitch black with it. Then it’s daytime again. Castiel looks at Dean, still smiling like nothing is wrong. They didn’t even talk about this. Has he done something? Did Dean find out about the marking?_

_The room goes dark, then light again, and Dean touches his shoulder. “Cas.”_

_Dark, light, dark, li—_

Castiel woke with a start, the light of a flashlight shining right in his eyes. Dean was leaning over him, turning the light off once he saw that Castiel was awake. His lamp wasn’t on his bedside table. If he’d thrashed around at all in his sleep, he’d probably sent it onto the floor. The mattress dipped near his thigh as Dean sat down.

“I heard your lamp fall,” Dean paused to yawn, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, “and I came up here and you were kicking, your wings were going, and you were making noise. You okay?”

There was a small amount of light leaking up from the lower level, and Castiel’s eyes adjusted quickly as he slowly rearranged himself to sit on his bed, facing Dean. He looked over and saw his lamp a few feet from the table, the shade crumpled and bulb in shattered pieces. Dean yawned again, more noisily this time, blinking away tears after.

His feet were bare, not even socks on them. It would’ve been too easy for the shards of glass from the bulb to end up in his feet. If the sound of the lamp crashing woke him, he had to have known that, but didn’t care. He just grabbed the flashlight and jumped into the loft to get Castiel out of a nightmare. A nightmare that could’ve made Castiel wake up violently. Dean didn’t know what would happen; he wasn’t concerned about the risks. He just threw himself into helping Castiel at the first sign of trouble.

Castiel took a deep breath and grit his teeth, trying to literally bite back the words he was so close to saying.

A hand covered his balled fist, Dean scooting toward the center of the bed. “Cas, c’mon, talk to me. What’s up?”

He had to tell Dean the truth. There was no point in continuing to be deceptive about things. “I need to tell you something.”

Dean squeezed his hand. “Alright, lay it on me.”

The fatigue of Dean’s rough waking was evident in his voice, the sound of it huskier than normal. Castiel didn’t know what time it was, and he suspected Dean didn’t either. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable for him to ask Castiel to wait until morning. But that wasn’t who Dean was. No matter of unpleasantness would keep him from trying to help the people he loved.

Castiel looked at their hands, wanting to cover Dean’s with his other, but that had to wait. “I’ll understand if you’re upset with me.”

Dean squinted at him. “I won’t be.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to tell you.” Castiel took a deep breath to calm himself, finding himself focusing on the heat of Dean’s hand over his own. “Ever since you returned from your date with Lisa, I’ve been scent marking your belongings without your knowledge or consent. It’s inappropriate and I am s—”

“Cas, hey, hey, slow down.” Dean’s hand slid up to his wrist, gripping gently. “It’s fine, I know.”

Castiel looked Dean in the eye, taking a moment to watch his face and examine his scent closely. It rang back to the trailer, to the early days of living here, when all he knew of Dean was the behavior he could immediately observe. Now he had more context, more knowledge of this man.

Just as always, Dean was telling him the truth.

Castiel swallowed thickly, his lips parting. That didn’t make sense. “How?”

Dean took his hand away, but moved closer until their knees were touching. “You remember me telling you my mom died?”

“Dean what does tha—”

“Just bear with me, just for a minute.” Dean offered a smile and waited for him to nod before continuing. “She died when I was four. Our house caught on fire, and Dad was out working late. He didn’t even know until the fire department called _him_.”

Castiel felt a heavy sadness on his shoulders, all of it Dean’s. Tears started to fill Dean’s eyes, but were blinked away before any could fall. He took in a shaky breath, offering Castiel yet another smile as he worked to continue the story. This wasn’t something that was talked about, so much that even the barest mention now was profoundly upsetting. Castiel could understand; he had years worth of memories like that.

“Well, um, the official story is that the fire was something electrical. Faulty wiring or some shit, but that’s not the truth.” Dean picked at one of his own nails, worrying the skin around it until Castiel touched his forearm to keep him from picking until he bled. “The fire was set by a human purist group.”

Castiel stopped breathing, his hand stuck to Dean’s skin. Dean lifted his head, looking Castiel in the eye. “Someone found out that my mom was over half angel, and they set our house on fire because of it. She shoved Sammy into my arms and told me to run. I hid in the bushes out back until everyone left because of the sirens.”

More tears filled Dean’s eyes, but he couldn’t blink them away. They fell onto his cheeks, rolling down his skin. Dean wiped his eyes and set his hand over Castiel’s.

“But uh, yeah. Sammy got her ears, I got the nose. I knew the moment you started. Kinda went out of my way to wear the things you marked.” Dean laughed and sniffed against the congestion of his crying.

Castiel thought about everything he’d observed in the almost year-long time he’d lived with Dean, and wondered how he honestly hadn’t seen it before. He leaned in and sniffed Dean’s shoulder with his nose right on Dean’s skin. That was the strange scent under all the human in Dean, it was the angel part of him.

Castiel slid his hand down to Dean’s wrist as he pulled back. “Did your mother have wings?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, she didn’t. My grandma Dee did, though. I think there’s probably a picture somewhere. I could ask Bobby to send one of the albums, if you want to see.”

Castiel tilted his head. “He knows?”

“Yeah. He and my mom were friends.” Dean reached out and gently stroked one of Castiel’s lower wings. “My mom knew Ellen, too. She introduced them.”

Castiel smiled softly. It was easy to see where Sam and Dean got their kindness. “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

More tears fell from Dean’s eyes. “Yeah, she was.”

Castiel looked around the room, his new perspective giving him a better understanding of the architecture. “When I first started walking around the house, I was surprised at all of the wide spaces. Humans don’t build their houses like this.”

Dean grinned and shrugged. “Me and Sammy get claustrophobic sometimes.”

Castiel nodded; he understood the feeling. “The unscented soaps make more sense, as well.”

“Perfumes give me migraines.” The sadness in Dean’s scent was starting to fade, the weight of it lifting.

Castiel started to feel foolish for his guilt. Dean had known the entire time, and had even gone out of his way to wear freshly marked clothing. The implication of that was clear. A slight blush warmed Castiel’s skin, and he couldn’t help but smile when Dean’s thumb absently stroked the side of his wrist.

“You’re not angry with me, then?” Castiel knew Dean wasn’t, but he still needed to ask.

Dean shook his head, a blush darkening his skin as well. “Kinda the opposite actually.”

They both laughed, seeming to realize how ridiculous they’d been acting. Their eyes met again, Dean looking at Castiel’s wings as the feathers began puffing up. It was an instinctual reaction, his body trying to impress Dean. In any other situation Castiel would have felt embarrassed by it. But Dean licked his lips, his smile only getting wider as he looked at Castiel’s wings in the low light.

He looked back to Castiel’s face, sighing softly. “So, am I crazy for wanting to try this?”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m yours.”

“Same here.” Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand again, neither of them able to let the other go.

Maybe they’d never have to.


	15. Free to Be

One Year

Dean climbed into the loft, smiling at Cas as he sat cross-legged on the bed. Little wire sculptures were scattered around the floor and the mattress, some of them not even half done before they had been abandoned. Cas frowned at the one he was holding, some sort of animal.

“The wire isn’t cooperating.” He clipped the wire, bent it over, and tossed the unfinished sculpture onto the floor with the rest. “I don’t understand how an inanimate object can refuse to cooperate.”

A soft laugh shook Dean’s shoulders, his heart pounding just beneath it. “You think this is bad, you should see me working on my car.”

Cas smiled at him, then frowned. “You’re nervous?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and took a slow breath. “Yeah, a little.”

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas stood, brows furrowed and wings reaching for Dean.

The soft brush of feathers against his arms calmed him enough to speak. “We found Inias.”

Cas froze in front of him, eyes widening and mouth gaping.

Dean touched Cas’ shoulder gently. “He was working in a factory up in one of the Canadian provinces. We already asked if he wants to come down and see you and he said yes. He’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”

A light, manic laugh bubbled up in Cas’ throat as he threw his arms and wings around Dean, holding him close. “Thank you.”

Dean slid his arms between Cas’ top and bottom wings and held on tightly. Inias was already on his way to them in a private jet. Any other time Dean would have made some crack about an angel riding in an airplane, but not here. Not with the way Cas was clinging to him with the sort of desperation most people couldn’t have nightmares about feeling. They’d been separated for more than fifteen years, and tomorrow they were going to see each other again.

Cas pulled back enough to look at Dean, a shaky smile on his face. “I owe you everything.”

Dean shook his head, his hands still resting at Cas’ sides. “You don’t owe me anything, Cas.”

They stood there for a moment, just watching each other. Then Cas reached up and cupped the back of his head, pulling him forward into a chaste kiss. It was simple and clean, and it made a warmth unfold in Dean’s chest. He felt like he was finally getting something back that he’d been missing for years. Both of them smiling broke the kiss, but Dean didn’t mind. They laughed, still holding one another.

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ shoulders and pulled him into another hug. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Cas.”

Cas nodded and buried his face in Dean’s neck.

• •

Cas was gripping his hand so tightly Dean thought his knuckles were going to pop. The front doors were open, and the entire house was empty except for them. Sam and Sarah had herded everyone into the Garden as soon as the driver for Inias’ car called to tell them they were half an hour away. That was twenty-five minutes ago, and Cas had thrown up twice since then.

His wings couldn’t stop moving, and the two nearest Dean alternated wrapping around him and rubbing him from the back of his head to his calves until he didn’t smell like anything but Cas. The sound of a car door closing made Cas tense, his breathing picking up in what Dean knew was pre-panic attack hyperventilation.

Dean leaned over and pressed a soft kiss into Cas’ hair. “He’s your little brother, and he loves you. The first thing he asked was if you were okay. It’s gonna be fine, Cas.”

Cas took a slower breath that trembled on the exhale and nodded.

The silhouette of an angel with four wings started up the front steps. Cas was shaking and leaning into Dean, squeezing his hand so much it hurt. Finally, Inias walked through the front doors. He looked to be about an inch or so taller than his big brother, and his wings had larger patches of the silver that spotted Cas’ feathers. They stared at each other for a moment, frozen as they looked one another up and down across the short distance. Then Inias took another step, and Cas let go of Dean’s hand to run toward his brother.

Cas’ wings spread wide and wrapped around Inias, wings and all, both of them crying and laughing as they hugged for the first time since they were children. Dean wiped the tears from his eyes as he watched them. He would give them time once they got upstairs, if they wanted. Right now he was just grateful that Cas wanted him here, was allowing him to see something like this.

They pulled apart, and Cas grabbed Inias’ face, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Inias laughed, every bit a little brother whose big brother was embarrassing him in front of a stranger.

Inias put his hands on Cas’ shoulders and held his brother at arm’s length, getting a good look at him up close. “You look so healthy.”

Cas nodded. “I eat well here.”

There was food upstairs for Inias and Cas to share, the cupboards and fridge overflowing with everything Cas wanted his brother to try.

After another moment Cas spoke again, his wings pulling tighter to his back. “I’m so sorry, Inias—”

Inias shook his head. “It’s okay, Castiel. You don’t have to be sorry.”

They hugged again, Inias wrapping his wings around Cas this time. A sob shook Cas’ body, and Dean had to turn away when they both started crying again. He’d let them eat alone tonight and have dinner with Sammy somewhere else. Both he and Cas needed some quality time with their little brothers.

─────────────────

Two Years

Castiel woke up with the sun on his face, and the warmth of another body along his left side. He stretched, flexing his wings and groaning when his back popped. The new bed was doing wonders for him. Dean said it was memory foam, but Castiel didn’t particularly care what it was made of. All he knew was that it was soft where it needed to be and firm elsewhere. It was huge, warm, and perfect. Plus, it was theirs to share. Inias was in a room not far from theirs, relishing in Castiel’s old bed.

Dean yawned beside him and stretched, rolling over onto his back. “Don’t know why we got blankets. Your wings are an oven.”

Castiel chuckled and turned his head, looking at Dean in the mid-morning light. “I believe you were the one who insisted on a full bedding set.”

“Yeah, well, I was wrong. You should’ve talked me out of it.” Dean smiled, eyes slipping shut gently. “How’d you sleep?”

“I like this mattress.” Castiel slowly moved onto his side, his wings sliding against Dean’s bare chest.

Shortly after they’d started sharing a bed, Castiel had begun wondering what it would be like to lay next to Dean without clothing. The thought of his wings being able to touch every of Dean’s skin was enticing. He reached out and set his hand over Dean’s chest, feeling the calm, slow beating of Dean’s heart against his palm. It was different than just hearing it. The sensation of touch, of the heat from Dean’s body, was different. Something was changing in the way Castiel looked at Dean. He knew that not long ago it would have terrified or even repulsed him, but not now.

Now, when he saw Dean’s bare back in the kitchen as he cooked, Castiel felt the urge to press kisses to those broad, freckled shoulders. He wanted to feel Dean against him, to have his skin and wings marked with Dean’s scent, too.

“What’s on your mind, Cas?” Dean always knew when he was lost in his own head.

Castiel slid his hand down until it rested on Dean’s stomach, rising with a deep breath. The touch lingered for a moment, then Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean and pulled them flush together. He wasn’t sure how it would be appropriate for him to air his thoughts. This was the first time he’d ever felt safe enough to want such things.

He nuzzled Dean’s shoulder, then pressed a soft kiss to it. “Have you ever thought about…”

Castiel sighed against Dean’s skin and took a slow breath. Dean just waited for him, his scent sweet with affection and happiness.

“Since we’ve started sharing a bed, have you thought about… using it?” Castiel frowned as he finished speaking, his eyes fixed on a freckle near Dean’s throat.

Dean shifted, rolling onto his side to face Castiel. His brows were furrowed, and he looked closely at Castiel’s face before speaking softly. “What’re you trying to ask me, Cas?”

There was a change in Dean’s scent, something a little sharper wrapping itself around Castiel’s perception. He reached out and ran his fingers across Dean’s chest, just touching the smooth skin lightly. The new scent got stronger, the heart beneath Castiel’s fingers speeding up a few beats.

He bit his lower lip and watched his fingers as they traced nonsense patterns on Dean’s skin. “I’ve never had occasion to be physically intimate with someone. But I trust you, and I’ve been thinking about it.”

Dean grabbed his hand, pulling it up to kiss the palm. “Anything you want, Cas. But I want to ask you something first.”

“What?” Castiel’s skin felt warmer with every press of Dean’s lips to his hand.

The usual warmth in Dean’s eyes was different, stronger. “Will you sign your emancipation papers?”

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, not once, but he nodded without hesitation. Dean grinned and kissed his wrist, just over his pulse, then leaned forward to kiss his forehead. Castiel laughed softly, a bit giddy, and tilted his head back to offer his lips. They grinned into the kiss, and after a second, Castiel closed his eyes. His sight was flooded with reds and golds, and he could feel his feathers rising all over.

Dean pulled back, eyes bright and fingers stroking Castiel’s feathers. “I want you to be free.”

Castiel leaned in and let his lips brush Dean’s as he spoke. “I have been for the last two years.”

• •

Sam was out of town during the party to celebrate Castiel’s emancipation, but Dean called him to let him know. Castiel heard Sam over the line, congratulating them. His tone was rushed, but that wasn’t surprising. Lobbyists for angel rights had been making more and more pushes in the last six months. Laws were passed in almost all provinces regarding the treatment of slaves. Killing a slave, human or angel, would result in fines, and even the confiscation of any remaining slaves. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

Those laws were a platform, a place for Sam and other lawyers to stand and make a case for all angels. If the hopeful tone Sam had was any indication, the case was strong. Or at the least, someone was listening.

Castiel thought about that while he wrote his name on the line in Enochian. Inias stood beside him, practically vibrating with excitement. Dean kissed his cheek once the papers were signed, and Castiel responded by using his lower wings to snag Dean for a kiss on the mouth. Their friends laughed and clapped. Someone had a camera, probably Anna. He wanted that image framed.

They ate downstairs and had a bonfire in the backyard, talking well into the night. Inias and Samandriel even had a race around the yard. Dean expressed his gratitude at the lack of property damage, since they weren’t flying and crashing. The subsequent bickering of Gabriel and Balthazar, while loud, was perfect.

The whole night was perfect.

• •

Two days after signing himself to legal freedom, Castiel still didn’t actually _feel_ different. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to, but even Sarah said that a year and a half later she just felt like herself. That was what Castiel felt like, himself. Maybe if he’d lived with anyone other than Dean, there would have been a change he could have seen or felt. But Dean had always treated him like a person, and a piece of paper wasn’t going to suddenly make it any more than it had been.

Castiel sat in the loft, having turned it into something of a study and his own personal library. Dean kept offering to buy him bookshelves of his own, but Castiel liked the clutter. The books half-open on the ground, or stacked up precariously. It looked lived-in. It looked like it was actually _his_. He still needed that.

The door in the lower level opened, and he perked up as Dean walked into the kitchen beneath him. “Heya, Cas, I got some good news.”

Castiel jumped down quickly, curious when he found Dean pacing around the island. Bright yellows and oranges tinged the edge of Castiel’s sight, Dean’s excitement infecting his vision.

He smiled curiously and tilted his head. “What is it?”

Dean looked at him, ready to speak until he realized Castiel was only wearing a pair of loose-fitting lounge pants. Ever since their conversation, Castiel had noticed Dean reacting differently to his skin being bared. He actually rather liked it. The way Dean looked at him, it was appreciative instead of predatory.

A nervous chuckle shook Dean’s shoulders, one end of his mouth lifting in a lopsided grin. “Someone’s relaxed.”

Castiel looked at himself with as much nonchalance as he could muster. Dean wouldn’t believe it, but it was still fun to pretend. “I was reading. What’s the good news?”

Dean’s smile changed, faltering around the edges. He licked his lips and walked up to Castiel slowly. The excitement was still present, but it was edged with something heavier, almost anxious. He reached out and took Castiel’s hands in his own.

“They did it. We have a friend in the senate, Victor, who holds the largest territory on the continent, and he voted in favor of Sam’s bill.” Dean laughed quietly, like even he couldn’t believe what he was saying, and squeezed Castiel’s fingers comfortingly. “The places where this bill is law, all those hate groups are now legally being called terrorist organizations. Killing an angel is murder, same as a human. They did it.”

Castiel laughed, shocked, relief filling him right alongside something sharper and stronger. Hope.

Dean looked down at their joined hands, his smile not fading. “I mean it’s not going to change how people think, but this is what we’ve been waiting decades for.”

Castiel could pick up on what Dean wasn’t saying. It was legislation like this that would keep more generations of children from going through what he and Sam went through: having to hide and pretend to be something they weren’t because the government was against them.

“Oh, there’s, uh, there’s something else.” Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin, silver chain clenched in his fist.

He opened his fingers, allowing a pendant to drop down and hang in the air. It was a coin not much wider than Castiel’s thumb, and engraved on it was the symbol of the angel’s rights movement. Carved just beneath that was the date that Dean bought Castiel.

It wasn’t delicate, not really, but Castiel couldn’t help taking it from Dean with an absurd level of gentleness. “It’s beautiful.”

Dean breathed out a soft sigh, laughing a little on the end. “I’m glad you like it. I had a friend make it to look like the one my mom had when she was alive.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped up and met Dean’s, his breath coming short. “Dean?”

“Part of the legislation my genius little brother got passed says that angels and humans can be domestic partners. And in Vic’s province, _our_ province, they can even get married.” Dean looked down at the necklace as Castiel held it, the silver reflecting light back into his eyes. “I’m not asking for anything right now, but we could in the future, if you wanted.”

Castiel wrapped his arms and his wings around Dean, tears filling his eyes that he had no hope or care to stop. He laughed as they fell, joyous to the point of near ecstasy. Dean held him tightly, pressing gentle kisses to his hair and the side of his head.

The chain warmed in his hand, and he pulled back from Dean just enough to slip it over his head. Despite the small size it had a good weight that felt comfortable against his chest, the pendant itself sitting just under his heart. He looked at it and murmured in Enochian.

Dean made a soft noise in question. “Didn’t catch that.”

Castiel shook his head, meeting Dean’s eyes again. “It’s an older Enochian dialect, something your grandmother probably knew.”

“What’s it mean?” Dean’s hands were sitting at his sides, fingers fanning out on his skin.

“It means, ‘those who are persecuted will inherit the world.’” Castiel couldn’t stop smiling, his cheeks were beginning to hurt, and he almost felt like a child for it.

The pure joy that filled him was something he hadn’t felt since he was young, living with Inias when his brother was barely walking, and laughed and played without care. His family had grown since then, and he was grateful he could share this with Dean.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Dean leaned in and kissed him. Everywhere their skin met was pure heat, radiating out until his vision was the richest red, muddled with violet and shining with strings of gold. Dean made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, his hands shaking before they slid around to Castiel’s back. He massaged the bases of Castiel’s wings, every muscle from the base of Castiel’s spine to his shoulders jumping.

Castiel pulled back, chest heaving as he panted. Every breath was filled with some trace of Dean. That was new, a good new.

He bit his lower lip, looking down at Dean’s mouth, then back up at his eyes. “I like it when you kiss me.”

Dean chuckled. “I like that you let me.”

Castiel could feel the warmth of a blush on his cheeks. “We could lay down and kiss more. It would be more comfortable than standing.”

Dean nodded, a sly grin making the dimples in his cheeks obvious. “Probably. Is kissing all you want?”

“For right now.” Castiel didn’t fear telling Dean what he wanted anymore. He hadn’t for a long time.

“Sounds good to me.” Dean’s voice was just a whisper, the tone of it hot like his hands at Castiel’s back.

Castiel dragged Dean toward the bed, smiling and tugging at Dean’s shirt. If he had his way, they would kiss until they fell asleep, which meant there was no need for Dean to wear a shirt.

Of course Dean gave him what he wanted, pressing a gentle kiss to his wrist first.

Unfortunately, the plan to kiss until they slept didn’t quite work out. Samandriel knocked on their door after less than an hour, and they both remembered promising him a movie night. Inias came, too, so Castiel didn’t actually mind their kisses being interrupted. Dean didn’t seem to mind either.

Castiel ran his thumb over the engraved angel on the coin and realized he did feel different about being free now. Now he could actually marry Dean, which was something he did need his legal freedom for. He didn’t care if it ever happened, really. So long as he had Dean in some way it didn’t matter.

The fact was, he could. He could do anything.

• •

Three Years

Watching Dean sleep was something Castiel had come to enjoy greatly. It was simple, maybe a bit odd, but seeing Dean so at peace settled him. Even before he’d admitted to his own feelings, watching like this had helped. Castiel never woke up thrashing from nightmares anymore, though he did still have them. Instead, he would turn and watch the man sleeping next to him. The steady sound of a strong heart and untroubled breathing were rare pleasures.

Outside, the world was being covered in snow and ice. The Garden was mostly barren, all of the leaves on the trees having fallen months ago. Seeing the world changing, even in these small ways, brought a warmth to Castiel’s heart that was different than what Dean gave him. It was more subtle, something that helped sustain him when Dean wasn’t around. They’d talked about him going on one of Dean’s business trips, but he wasn’t quite ready for that. He didn’t think he could ever be away from Inias again.

Dean stirred beside him, groaning and stretching beneath two wings laying across his body. All they had on their bed anymore were sheets, the blankets tucked away in the loft closet for movie nights with Samandriel and Inias. Even now, with the blizzard raging outside, the cool air peeling off the window, Castiel was more than warm enough to keep Dean content.

Without opening his eyes Dean turned his head and smiled, his scent still soft with sleep. “Time’s it?”

Castiel shifted until he could hook his leg on one of Dean’s. He kissed Dean’s forehead, then his brow, then the arch of his cheekbone. “Maybe nine.”

Dean hummed, a smile lifting his lips. He opened his eyes, blinking quickly until he could focus on Castiel next to him. “Storm still bad?”

“Bad enough, I think.” Castiel leaned down and kissed Dean’s chest, just below his heart.

A deep noise reverberated under Castiel’s lips, the sound of it beautifully dark. “So we’ve got some time to kill, then?”

Castiel grinned and nipped at Dean’s sternum. “More than some.”

Dean chuckled and ran his fingers through Castiel’s feathers with a pleasantly heavy touch. For once they didn’t have anywhere to be or anything to do. The winter was always slower at the start, which was one of the reasons it was Castiel’s favorite season. They could take their time.

He placed an open-mouthed kiss to Dean’s chest, moving to his hands and knees as he tasted the skin he’d grown to know almost as well as his own. There were a few faded marks scattered across Dean’s stomach, but he couldn’t be bothered to renew them right now. They’d showered in the late hours of the morning, and everything tasted so clean, pure. Castiel licked and nibbled at Dean’s collarbone, moaning under his breath when insistent fingers worked their way beneath his feathers.

Castiel nuzzled under Dean’s ear, taking in a deep breath as he did. A warm, gentle hand went to his jaw, guiding him into a kiss. He could feel Dean’s arousal against his thigh and gently pressed his leg against it until he could feel a push back, the lips pressed to his opening with a gasp. Their kiss deepened, his tongue sucked and lips bit with the barest pressure. A practiced touch rubbed at the sensitive skin that connected his wings to his back, massaging the thick muscle beneath. All four of his wings shivered, his feathers bristling in anticipation.

Dean moaned into his mouth, the hand on his jaw sliding down the back of his neck, then further until he was able to dig his fingers into hard muscle covered in oil-slick feathers. Castiel's eyes rolled into his head, spine bowing and wings snapping out suddenly. He rolled his hips down, grinding himself into Dean's hip. The scratch of stubble on his neck made him groan. Soft, sucking kisses trailed from his jaw to his shoulder.

"Dean." Castiel's voice shook, his hips stuttering against the softness and safety of Dean's body under him.

He could feel Dean smiling on his skin, his own lips twitching to match. "Whatcha need, Cas?"

The grip Dean had on his wing went tighter, a flash of heat shooting through the limb from the point of pressure. It spread through his skin, his hands seeking Dean, grabbing and squeezing until he could hear the tremble of pleasure in every breath. Castiel didn’t answer the question, not with words. Instead he dove into another kiss and took his hand off of Dean, planting both of them firmly on the mattress. The scratch of nails on the skin under his feathers made him roll his hips faster, grinding down and chasing after the pressure starting to build inside him.

Dean matched his rhythm, moving in perfect time with him. Since the beginning it had been at his pace, his word, his need. All of it, and even here and now that was true.

Castiel pulled back, panting and watching the changes in Dean's expression as they both worked to get closer to completion. Dean's lips were kiss-bitten and slick, a darker pink than usual. It made memories of the first time flash in Castiel's mind. Memories of Dean kissing every inch of skin possible, of those lips smiling, moving as they whispered words of love and pride. Dean had licked into him, kissed him and lavished the most tender parts of him until he was screaming, wings curling in closer, then flailing out of control.

They fluttered as he remembered, the heavy throbbing of his pulse racing down to his groin. Castiel went down to his elbows, his whole body rolling into the next thrust of his hips. He was already close, so close, and he never knew before that he could need like this. Need to be vulnerable and exposed, to have someone reach into him and cradle him like Dean could.

He rested his forehead against Dean's and weaved his fingers into the soft brown hair above, tugging on it in just the way Dean liked. The moan it earned him made his hips buck roughly, forcing Dean's back down when they tried to meet him.

"God, you don't know how gorgeous you are, Cas." Dean raked through his feathers, the touches greedy and frantic as he tried to pleasure each wing.

Castiel panted against Dean's mouth, his eyes closed tight. His wings tensed, pulling up close to his body. More oil slicked his feathers as they puffed out, and Castiel already knew Dean's skin would shine with it.

He took one of his hands from Dean's head and reached down under both of their bodies. Dean was so pliant beneath him, allowing Castiel to pull his lower body up off the mattress. The angle and pressure were both better. Their skin slid together easily, slick with sweat and precome. Castiel buried his face in Dean's neck and growled, fingers curling and digging into Dean's flesh.

"C-Close." His thrusts were short, stilted.

Dean hummed and ran his foot against the length of Castiel's calf. A quiet chuckle was the only sort of warning Castiel ever had when Dean was ready to help him finish. “Mark me, Cas.”

Castiel’s entire body locked up, his hips pressing down almost painfully for just a second before every muscle fell lax and he released on Dean’s stomach with a long moan. His wings gave a slight shiver that quickly spread into the rest of his body, flashes of heat rushing through him as he spent himself and eventually went soft. He let himself collapse on top of Dean, warm contentment filling him.

Dean was still petting his wings, his touch lighter now to avoid over-stimulating Castiel. He was still hard, but there was no rush or urgency. Castiel’s satisfaction almost always came first. It seemed to make Dean’s own that much sweeter.

Castiel went back up to his elbows, smiling into a short kiss. “You have very indulgent dirty talk.”

Dean stole another kiss and shrugged, pulling his hands free of Castiel’s saturated feathers. “I kinda like how possessive you are.”

The oil did make Dean’s skin glisten, not dripping, but still slick. Castiel licked his lips, a dark sense of fulfillment coiling around his spine and blooming in his chest. His basest instincts gave him gratification in Dean being so thoroughly marked. The way his gaze lingered wasn’t missed or ignored. A flash of pink caught Castiel’s eye, drawing him to look at Dean’s mouth, then up at a mischievous glint in pupil-eaten green.

“I can show you, if you want.” Dean’s scent was rich, thick with violet and threaded with coppery golds. It was the sort of passion that could have led to broken furniture at another time.

Castiel nodded, and watched with rapt attention as Dean’s right hand moved downward. He went to his knees, eyes wide and breath ripped from him when Dean swiped up some of the mess Castiel had made before gripping himself. The flush on his freckled skin got darker, precome leaking steadily and mixing with everything else dirtying once-clean skin.

“Gonna smell like you everywhere now.” The words were distant, like Dean barely realized he was speaking.

Castiel let out a slow breath and nodded. “For days.”

There was so much oil, so much come, and Dean was rubbing it all into his skin. Soap wouldn’t be able to remove that mark.

A lewd chuckle met Castiel’s ears, Dean’s hand speeding up, his hips subtly shifting into the rhythm. “Oh, it’ll be longer than that.”

Castiel ground his teeth and surged into a kiss. If Dean kept talking there was no guarantee they’d make it out of bed without needing to change the sheets. They’d already changed them twice this week. Any more would just be obscene.

Dean moaned appreciatively into his mouth, free hand drifting down to rest at Castiel’s side. Every hitch in his breath was accompanied by twitching fingers. Their mouths parted, Dean’s chest heaving as his eyes slipped shut. He panted Castiel’s name, voice unsteady as his body wound up tight. Another stroke was all it took, his body sagging into the mattress and his scent becoming dark and heady. Castiel felt splashes of release land on his own stomach and moaned under his breath.

An easy, sated smile lifted Dean’s lips and Castiel kissed the corner of it. Dean sluggishly wrapped him in a hug, pressing kisses to his neck and shoulders. He left kisses of his own on Dean’s neck in return, a delighted laugh bubbling up in his throat. It was their combined post-coital euphoria, and he loved feeling it. A softer warmth was spreading through him, both of them relaxing as he slowly settled at Dean’s side.

Even three years later, with all the healing he’d done, Castiel was still haunted with nightmares and the memories of everything he’d suffered. He knew the pain would remain with him all his life, but he could let it go when he was here. Dean gave him a sense of safety, of trust. No matter what happened, he knew Dean would pull him back to himself, and take care of him.

When he was with Dean, Castiel knew he was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end of the line, folks! thank you so, so much for reading. whether you've been here form the start or jumped in later, i love that people are reading and enjoying this. it's my longest supernatural fanfiction to date, and has helped me build courage in writing my own original stories.
> 
> for a final author's note, i want to thank my great friend, [eliza](http://imnotleavinherewithoutyou.tumblr.com/) (her ao3 is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye) she writes so much destiel long fic). without her, there's a chance this story never would have been finished. it certainly wouldn't be anywhere near as fun to read. i don't know what commas are, just ask her. any mistakes left at this point are all me.
> 
> it's been a crazy ride, writing this, and i'm sorta sad it's done. but, this just means i get to move onto other things, right? i am [garrisonbabe](http://garrisonbabe.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr as well. if you would like to talk about the fic over there tag me. i also track these tags: c&u, clipped and unbound
> 
> if you happen to draw fanart or make graphics and things and you wanna do a thing, totally go a thing. but tag me, i love seeing what y'all create! enough rambling from me. once again, thank you! i really hope you enjoyed.


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